HE  CRUST 


8     i 


I   II 


THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 


UNDER  THE  CRUST 


I  don't  play  with  children,"  he  said  scornfully. 


UNDER  THE  CRUST 


BY 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1911 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  November,  1907 


/? 


CONTENTS 

Miss  Godwin's  Inheritance  1 

The  New  Agent  39 

A  Brother  to  Diogenes  99 

4  Goth  139 

Leander's  Light  173 

Friend  the  Doctor  209 

Hostage  253 


MISS  GODWIN'S  INHERITANCE 


MISS      GODWIN'S      INHER 
ITANCE 


¥¥  HEN  my  cousin  Hortensia  asked  me  one  even 
ing  in  the  middle  of  winter  to  go  with  her  the  fol 
lowing  week  to  look  at  a  "summer  place"  for  her  on 
the  Maine  coast,  it  crossed  my  mind  for  a  moment 
that  she  was  slightly  mad;  but  the  glance  that  I 
gave  her  as  she  sat  in  her  rocking-chair,  just  out  of 
the  tempered  light  of  the  reading-lamp,  with  her 
dainty  gray  skirts  spread  about  her  and  the  firelight 
flickering  on  her  calm  features  and  white  hands  as 
she  plied  her  needlework,  showed  nothing  to  warrant 
my  suspicion.  Only  the  time  was  midwinter,  the 
hour  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  even  the 
tight  windows  and  the  heavy  silken  curtains  drawn 
close  could  not  shut  out  the  sound  of  the  driving 
sleet  that  had  been  falling  all  the  evening. 

I  knew  my  cousin  well;  knew  that  notwithstand 
ing  her  Quaker  blood  and  quiet  ways  she  was,  as  an 

3 


UNDER     THE     CRUST 

old  neighbor  ;li^d  Jong  ?ince  aptly  said  of  her,  "a 
woman  of  her  own  head,"  and  that  she  had  during 
her  married  life  enjoyed  the  full  confidence  of  her 
husband,  her  senior  by  some  years,  and  one  of  the 
strong  members  of  the  bar,  and  had  always  borne 
with  notable  success  her  full  share  of  the  exactions 
of  a  large  establishment  and  a  distinguished  posi 
tion.  I  knew  further,  that  since  her  husband's  death 
she  had  ably  carried  on  his  charitable  work  and 
maintained  her  position  as  one  of  the  leaders,  not 
of  society,  but  of  everything  else  that  was  good  and 
lofty  and  dignified.  So  I  put  aside  the  thought 
that  first  sprang  into  my  mind  and  declared  my 
readiness  to  go  with  her  anywhere  and  at  any  time 
that  she  might  wish. 

"But  why  on  earth  do  you  select  that  particular 
spot  and  this  particular  time  to  look  at  a  country 
place?"  I  demanded. 

The  question  evidently  appeared  apt  to  her,  and 
she  gave  one  of  her  little  chuckles  of  pleasure  which 
had  just  enough  of  the  silvery  sound  to  hall-mark  it 
a  laugh.  Folding  her  hands  for  a  moment  in  a  way 
which  she  had  either  inherited  from  the  portrait  of 

4 


MISS    GODWIN'S    INHERITANCE 

her  Quakeress  grandmother,  on  her  dining-room 
wall,  or  which  she  had  learned  by  practice  to  make 
so  perfect  that  it  was  the  exact  representation  of 
that  somewhat  supercilious  but  elegant  old  dame's 
easy  attitude,  she  said: 

"  For  the  best  reason  in  the  world,  my  dear  John ! 
Simply — because." 

This  ended  it  for  the  moment,  but  a  little  later, 
having,  as  I  suppose,  enjoyed  my  mystification 
sufficiently,  she  began  to  give  her  reasons.  In  the 
first  place,  she  was  "completely  worn  out"  with  the 
exactions  of  the  social  life  which  she  had  found 
gathering  about  her  more  and  more  closely. 

"I  feel  so  tired  all  the  time — so  dissatisfied," 
she  said,  with  a  certain  lassitude  quite  unusual  with 
her.  "I  cannot  stand  the  drain  of  this  life  any 
longer.  My  heart " 

"Your  heart!  Well,  your  heart  is  all  right — that 
I  will  swear,"  I  interjected. 

"Don't  be  frivolous.  My  heart  is  my  trouble  at 
present."  She  gave  a  nod  of  mock  severity.  "I 
consulted  a  doctor  and  he  told  me  to  go  to  some 
European  watering  place  ending  in  'heim';  but  I 

5 


UNDER    THE    CRUST 
know  better  than  that.     It  is  'heim'  that  I  want, 
but  it  is  an  American  'heim,'  and  I  am  going  to 
find  it  on  this  side  the  water.     Like  that  Shunam- 
itish  woman,  'I  dwell  among  mine  own  people."' 

"She  was  ever  one  of  my  favorites,"  I  ventured; 
"  but  what  is  the  matter  with  this  '  heim '  ?  "  I  gazed 
about  the  luxurious  apartment  where  Taste  had 
been  handmaid  to  Wealth  in  every  appointment. 

She  shook  her  head  wearily. 

"I  am  so  tired  of  this  strenuous  life  that  I  feel 
that  if  I  do  not  get  out  of  it  and  go  back  to  some 
thing  that  is  calm  and  natural  I  shall  die.  It  is  all 
so  hollow  and  unreal.  Why,  we  are  all  trying  to 
do  the  same  thing  and  all  trying  to  think  the  same 
thing,  or,  at  least,  say  the  same  thing.  We  do  not 
think  at  all.  Scores  of  women  come  pouring  into 
my  house  on  my  "  days  "  and  pour  out  again,  content 
only  to  say  they  have  left  cards  on  my  table,  and 
then  if  I  do  not  leave  cards  on  their  tables  they  all 
think  I  am  rude  and  put  on  airs  because  I  live  in 
a  big  house.  Forty  women  called  here  to-day,  and 
thirty-nine  of  them  said  precisely  the  same  thing. 
I  must  get  out  of  it." 

6 


MISS    GODWIN'S    INHERITANCE 

"What  was  it?" 

"Nothing"  Her  face  lit  up  with  the  smile  which 
always  made  her  look  so  charming,  and  of  which  some 
one  had  once  said:  "Mrs.  Davison  is  not  precisely 
a  pretty  woman,  but  her  smile  is  an  enchantment." 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  them?" 

"I  gave  them  the  exact  equivalent — nothing.  I 
must  get  out.  My  husband  once  said  that  the 
most  dreadful  thing  on  earth  was  a  worldly  old 
woman." 

"You  are  neither  worldly  nor  old,"  I  protested. 

She  gazed  at  me  calmly. 

"I  am  getting  to  be  both.  I  am  past  forty,  and 
when  a  woman  is  past  forty  she  is  dependent  on 
two  things — her  goodness  and  her  intellect.  I  have 
lost  the  one  and  am  in  danger  of  losing  the  other. 
I  want  to  go  where  I  can  preserve  the  few  remnants 
I  have  left.  And  now,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden 
return  of  her  vivacity,  which  was  always  like  a 
flash  of  April  sunlight  even  when  the  clouds  were 
lowest,  "I  have  sent  for  you  this  evening  to  show 
you  the  highest  proof  of  my  confidence.  I  wish  to 
ask  your  advice,  and  I  want  you  to  give  the  best 

7 


UNDER     THE     CRUST 

you  have.  But  I  do  not  want  you  to  think  I  am 
going  to  take  it,  for  I  am  not." 

"Well,  that  is  frank  at  any  rate,"  I  said.  "We 
shall,  at  least,  start  fair  and  not  be  by  the  way  of 
being  deceived." 

"Yes,  I  want  it;  it  will  help  me  to  clarify  my 
ideas — to  arrive  at  my  own  conclusions.  I  shall 
know  better  what  I  do  not  want." 

She  gazed  at  me  serenely  from  under  her  long 
eyelashes. 

"Flattering,  at  least!  How  many  houses  do  you 
suppose  I  build  on  those  terms?  And  now  one 
question  before  I  agree.  Why  do  you  want  to  take 
a  place  which  is,  so  to  speak,  nowhere — that  is,  as 
you  tell  me,  several  miles  from  anywhere?" 

"  Just  for  that  reason — I  want  to  get  back  to  first 
principles,  and  I  understand  that  the  place  I  have 
in  mind  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  old  homes 
in  all  New  England.  It  has  trees  on  it  that  were 
celebrated  a  century  ago,  and  a  garden  that  is  his 
torical.  Family-trees  can  be  made  easy  enough; 
but  only  Omnipotence  can  make  a  real  tree,  and 
the  first  work  of  the  Creator  was  to  plant  a  garden." 

8 


MISS    GODWIN'S    INHERITANCE 

"Oh!  well,  then,  I  give  in.  If  there  is  a  garden." 
For  my  cousin's  love  for  flowers  was  a  passion. 
Her  name,  Hortensia,  was  an  inspiration  or  a 
prophecy.  She  could  have  made  Aaron's  rod  bud. 

"There  is  one  other  reason  that  I  have  not  told 
you,"  she  added,  after  a  pause. 

"There  always  is,"  I  observed,  half  cynically;  for 
I  was  not  so  pleased  as  I  pretended  with  her  flatly 
notifying  me  that  my  advice  went  for  nothing. 

She  nodded. 

"My  grandfather  and  the  owner  of  the  old  place 
used  to  be  great  friends,  and  my  grandfather  always 
said  it  was  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  on  earth:  'A 
pleasant  seat,'  he  called  it.  I  think  he  had  a  little 
love  affair  there  once  with  the  daughter  of  the  house. 
My  grandmother  was  always  rather  scornful  about  it." 

II 

A  WEEK  later  we  landed  about  mid-day  at  the 
little  station  just  outside  of  the  village  where  my 
cousin,  with  her  usual  prevision,  had  arranged  to 
have  a  two-horse  sleigh  meet  us.  Unfortunately, 
the  day  before,  a  snow  of  two  feet  had  added  to  the 

9 


UNDER     THE     CRUST 

two  feet  which  already  lay  on  the  ground  and  the 
track  outside  of  town  had  not  been  broken.  The 
day,  however,  was  one  of  those  perfect  winter  days 
which  come  from  time  to  time  in  northern  lati 
tudes  when  the  atmosphere  has  been  cleared;  the 
winds,  having  done  their  work  have  been  laid,  and 
Nature,  having  arrayed  herself  in  immaculate  garb, 
seems  well  content  to  rest  and  survey  her  work. 
The  sunshine  was  like  a  jewel.  The  white  earth 
sparkled  with  a  myriad  myriads  of  diamonds. 

The  man  to  whom  my  cousin  had  written,  Mr. 
Silas  Freeman,  was  on  the  platform  to  meet  us.  A 
tall,  lank  person  with  a  quiet  face,  a  keen  nose,  and 
an  indifferent  manner.  Bundled  in  a  buffalo-robe 
coat  he  stood  on  the  platform  and  gazed  at  us  in  a 
reposeful  manner  as  we  descended  from  the  train. 
We  passed  him  twice  without  his  speaking  to  us, 
though  his  eyes  were  on  us  with  mild  and  somewhat 
humorous  curiosity.  When,  in  response  to  my  in 
quiries,  the  station  agent  had  pointed  him  out,  I 
walked  up  and  asked  if  he  were  Mr.  Freeman,  he 
answered  briefly:  "I  be.  That's  my  name." 

I  introduced  Mrs.  Davison,  and  he  extended  his 
10 


MISS    GODWIN'S    INHERITANCE 

hand  in  its  large  fur  glove  indifferently,  while  a 
glance  suddenly  shot  from  his  quiet  eyes,  keen, 
curious,  and  inspective.  She  instantly  took  up  the 
running,  and  did  so  with  such  knowledge  of  the 
conditions,  such  clearness  and  resolution,  and  withal 
with  such  tact,  that  Mr.  Freeman's  calm  face 
changed  from  granite  to  something  rather  softer, 
and  his  eyes  began  to  light  up  with  an  expression 
quite  like  interest. 

"No,  he  hadn't  brought  the  sleigh,  's  he  didn't 
know 's  she'd  come,  seein'  's  the  weather  w'z  so 
unlikely." 

"But  didn't  I  write  you  I  was  coming?"  de 
manded  Mrs.  Davison. 

"Waal,  yes.  But  you  city  folks  sometimes  writes 
more  t'n  you  come." 

Mrs.  Davison  cast  her  eye  in  my  direction. 

"You  see  there ! — he  knows  them."  She  turned 
back  to  Freeman.  "But  I  am  not  one  of  the  'city 
folks.'  I  was  brought  up  in  the  country." 

Mr.  Freeman  blinked  with  something  between 
incredulity  and  mild  interest. 

"Well,  you'll  know  better  next  time,"  continued 
11 


UNDER     THE     CRUST 

my  cousin.  "Now  remember,  the  next  time  I  write, 
I  am  coming — if  I  do  not,  you  look  in  the  papers 
and  see  what  I  died  of." 

Whether  it  was  the  words  or  the  laugh  that  went 
with  them  and  changed  them  from  a  complaint  to 
a  jest,  Mr.  Freeman's  solemnity  relaxed,  and  he 
drawled,  "All  ri-ight." 

"And  now,  can't  we  get  the  sleigh  right  away?" 
demanded  Mrs.  Davison. 

"  Guess  so.  But  th*  road  beyond  th'  village  ain't 
broken." 

"Well,  can't  we  break  it?" 

"Guess  so." 

"Well,  let's  try.     I'm  game  for  it." 

"All  ri-ight,"  with  a  little  snap  in  his  eye. 

If,  however,  Mr.  Silas  Freeman  did  not  show  any 
curiosity  as  to  our  movements  he  was  one  of  the 
few  persons  we  saw  who  did  not.  The  object  of 
our  coming  was  evidently  known  to  the  population 
at  large,  or  to  such  portion  of  it  as  we  saw.  They 
peered  at  us  from  the  porches  of  the  white  houses 
under  the  big  elms,  or  from  the  stoops  of  the  stores, 
where  they  stood  bundled  up  in  rough  furs  and 

12 


MISS    GODWIN'S    INHERITANCE 

comforters,  and,  turning  as  we  passed,  discussed  us 
as  if  we  were  freaks  of  Nature. 

As  we  drove  along,  plunging  and  creeping  through 
the  snow-drifts,  Mr.  Freeman  began  to  unbend. 
"This  road  ain't  broke,  but  somebody's  been  along 
here.  Guess  it's  Miss  Hewitt." 

"Who  is  Miss  Hewitt?" 

"She's  one  o'  Doct'  Hewitt's  girls — she's  one  of 
the  good  women — looks  after  them  's  ain't  got  any 
body  else  to  look  after  'em." 

"I  hope  I  shall  know  her  some  day,"  observed 
my  cousin. 

"  She's  a  good  one  to  know,"  remarked  Mr.  Silas 
Freeman. 

We  crept  around  the  hill  toward  the  river. 

"Ah!  'twas  Miss  Hewitt,"  observed  the  driver  to 
himself.  "She's  been  to  dig  out  F'lissy."  He  was 
gazing  down  across  the  white  field  at  a  small  "shack- 
elty"  old  cabin  which  lay  half  buried  in  snow,  with 
a  few  scraggy  apple  trees  about  it. 

When  at  length,  after  a  somewhat  strenuous 
struggle  through  snow-drifts  up  to  our  horses'  backs, 
we  stood  on  the  portico  of  the  old  mansion,  though 

13 


UNDER     THE     CRUST 

the  snow  was  four  feet  deep  I  could  not  but  admit 
that  the  original  owner  knew  a  "pleasant  seat" 
when  he  saw  it.  Colonel  Hamilton,  when  he  estab 
lished  himself  on  that  point  overlooking  the  winding 
river  and  facing  the  south,  plainly  knew  his  busi 
ness. 

The  remains  of  a  terraced  lawn  sloped  in  gra 
cious  curves  around  the  hill  in  front,  where  still 
stood  some  of  the  grand  elms  which,  even  a  century 
before,  had  awakened  the  enthusiasm  of  the  owner's 
Southern  visitor.  Beyond,  on  one  side,  came  down 
to  the  river's  margin  a  forest  of  pines  which  some 
good  fortune,  in  shape  of  a  life-long  litigation,  had 
spared  from  the  lumberman's  axe,  and  which  stood 
like  an  army  guarding  the  old  mansion  and  its 
demesnes,  and  screening  them  from  the  encroach 
ments  of  modern,  pushing  life. 

On  the  other  side,  the  hill  ran  down  again  to  the 
water's  edge,  the  slope  covered  with  apple  trees 
which  now  stood  waist  deep  in  snow. 

Behind,  huddled  close  to  the  house,  were  a  number 
of  out-buildings  in  a  state  of  advanced  dilapida 
tion,  and  yet  behind  these  the  hill  rose  nobly  a 

14 


MISS   GODWIN'S    INHERITANCE 

straight  slant  of  nearly  half  a  mile,  its  crest,  where 
once  the  avenue  had  wound,  crowned  with  a  fine 
row  of  elms  and  maples,  a  buttress  and  defence 
against  the  double  storm  of  the  north  wind  and 
the  casual  tourist. 

Moreover,  the  original  architect  had  known  his 
business,  or,  at  least,  had  known  enough  to  give  the 
owner  excellent  ideas,  for  the  house  was  a  perfect 
example  of  the  Colonial  architecture  which  seems 
to  have  blown  across  the  country  a  century  and  a 
half  ago  like  the  breath  of  a  classical  spring,  leaving 
in  its  path  the  traces  of  a  classical  genius  which  had 
its  inspiration  on  the  historic  shores  of  the  JEgean 
and  the  Mediterranean.  From  foundation  to  peaked 
roof  with  its  balustrade,  in  form  and  proportion, 
through  every  detail  of  pillar  and  moulding  and 
cornice,  it  was  altogether  charming  and  perfect. 

I  became  suddenly  aware  that  my  cousin's  eyes 
had  been  on  my  face  for  some  time.  She  had  been 
enjoying  my  surprise  and  delight. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"It  is  charming — altogether  charming." 

"I  thought  you  would  like  it." 
15 


UNDER     THE     CRUST 

"Like  it!  Why,  it  is  a  work  of  genius.  That 
architect,  whoever  he  was " 

"Helped  to  clarify  the  ideas  of  the  owner." 

"Helped  to  clarify!  This  is  the  work  of  a  man 
of  genius,  I  say." 

"His  name  was  Hamilton.  He  built  it  and 
owned  it." 

As  we  came  out  of  the  house  and  plunged  around 
to  the  long-closed  front  door  to  take  another  look 
at  the  beautiful  fa9ade,  my  cousin  gave  an  ex 
clamation. 

"Why,  here  is  a  rose,  all  wrapped  up  and  pro 
tected."  She  was  bending  over  it  as  if  it  had  been 
a  baby  in  its  cradle,  a  new  tone  in  her  voice.  "It 
is  the  only  sign  of  care  about  the  whole  place.  I 
wonder  what  kind  it  is?" 

"I  guess  that's  F'lissy  God 'in 's  rose-bush,"  said 
Mr.  Freeman,  who  had  followed  us  in  our  tour  of 
inspection,  now  with  an  inscrutable  look  of  reserve, 
now  with  one  of  humorous  indulgence. 

"Who  is  F'lissy  Godwin?"  asked  Mrs.  Davison, 
still  bending  over  the  twist  of  straw. 

"She's  one  of  'em — she's  the  one  as  lives  down 
16 


MISS    GODWIN'S    INHERITANCE 

the  road  a  piece  in  that  little  old  house  under  the 
hill  you  saw." 

"Does  anyone  live  in  that  house!" 

"Waal,  if  you  call  it  livin*.  She  stays  there  any 
way.  She  wouldn't  go  to  the  New  Home — preferred 
to  stay  right  here,  and  comes  up  and  potters  around 
— I  al'ays  heard  she  had  a  rose-bush." 

"Oh!  She  has  a  new  home?  Why  on  earth 
doesn't  she  go  there?"  questioned  Mrs.  Davison. 

The  driver's  eyes  blinked.  "Guess  she  didn't 
like  the  comp'ny.  That's  what  th'  call  the  poor- 
house."  His  eyes  blinked  again,  this  time  with 
satisfaction  at  my  cousin's  ignorance.  "They 
might's  well  ha'  let  her  stay  on  up  here.  She 
wa'nt  flighty  enough  to  do  any  harm,  and  she'd 
ha'  taken  as  good  care  of  the  house  as  anyone. 
But  they  wouldn't."  His  tone  expressed  such 
entire  acquiescence  that  Mrs.  Davison  asked, 
"Who  would  not?" 

"Oh,  them  others.  They  had  the  right,  and  they 
wouldn't;  so  she's  lived  down  there  ever  since  I 
knew  her.  All  the  others  're  dead  now — she's  sort 
o'  'the  last  leaf  on  the  tree.'" 

17 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 
The  quotation  seemed  suddenly  to  lift  him  up  to 
a  new  level. 

My  cousin's  face  had  grown  softer  and  softer 
while  he  was  speaking. 

"Poor  old  thing!     Could  I  help  her?" 
"Waal,  I  guess  you  could  if  you  wanted  to." 
"I  do.     Couldn't  you  give  her  something  for  me  ? " 
"I  guess  I  could,  but  you'd  better  get  somebody 
else  to  do  it.     She'd  want  to  know  where  it  come 
from,  and  I  d'n'  know  's  she'd  take  it  if  she  knew 
it  come  from  you  as  is  buyin'  the  place." 

"Oh!  I  see.  But  you  need  not  tell  her  it  came 
from  me.  You  might  give  it  to  her  as  from  your 
self?" 

It  was  the  one  mistake  she  made.  His  face 
hardened. 

"Waal,  no,  I  couldn't  do  that." 
My  cousin  saw  her  error  and  apologized.     He 
said  nothing,  but  he  softened. 

"Miss  Hewitt  might  do  it.  She's  the  one  as 
hunts  'em  up  and  helps  'em." 

"Well,  then  I  will  get  her  to  do  it  for  me.  She 
will  know  how." 

18 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

"She  knows  how  to  do  a  good  many  things/' 
observed  Mr.  Freeman  quietly. 

Ill 

AFTER  this  I  knew  that  nothing  would  keep  my 
cousin  from  buying  the  place  if  she  could  get  it, 
and  so  in  truth  it  turned  out.  After  some  nego 
tiating,  in  which  every  edge  was  made  to  cut  by 
the  sellers,  the  deal  was  closed  and  the  Hamilton 
place  with  all  its  "improvements,  easements,  ap 
purtenances  and  hereditaments,"  became  hers  and 
her  heirs'  forever. 

No  child  with  a  new  toy  was  ever  more  delighted. 

I  received  one  evening  an  imperative  message: 
"Pray  come  immediately,"  and  on  my  arrival  I 
knew  at  once  that  my  cousin  had  gotten  the  place. 
Her  eyes  were  dancing  and  all  of  her  old  spirit 
appeared  to  have  come  back.  The  flush  of  youth 
was  on  her  cheeks.  I  found  the  big  library  table 
covered  with  photographs  of  the  place  and  the  house, 
inside  and  out,  and  if  there  was  a  spot  on  the  table 
not  covered  by  a  photograph  it  held  a  book  on 
gardening. 

19 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

"Well,  I  have  it." 

"Or  them,"  I  observed  quietly. 

"Them"?  with  a  puzzled  look.  "Never  mind! 
I  know  it's  an  insult,  though  I  do  not  know  just 
how.  Well,  I  have  sent  for  you.  I  want " 

"My  advice?" 

" — You  to  carry  out  my  ideas." 

"How  do  you  know  I  will?" 

"  Come,  do  not  talk  nonsense.  Of  course  you  will." 
She  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  smile.  She  began 
to  sketch  her  views  rapidly  and  clearly  in  a  way  that 
showed  a  complete  comprehension  of  the  case. 

"The  house  is  to  be  done  just  this  way.  And 
the  grounds  are  to  be  restored  as  they  were.  All 
these  old  buildings  are  to  be  removed."  She  was 
speaking  with  a  photograph  in  her  hand  showing 
the  decrepit  stables — "these — which  are  recent  ex 
crescences,  pulled  down;  this  moved  back  to  its  old 
site  under  the  hill  down  there — and  here  is  to  be  the 
garden  just  where  it  was — and  as  it  was.  See, 
here  is  the  description." 

She  took  from  the  table  a  small  volume  bound  in 
red  leather,  and  opened  it. 

20 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

"Here  is  an  old  letter  written  by  my  grandfather 
a  hundred  years  ago,  giving  his  impressions  of  the 
place  when  he  visited  it." 

'"Here  I  am  in  the  Province  of  Maine,  where  I 
arrived  a  few  days  ago,  expecting  to  find  myself  in 
a  foreign  land.  Imagine  my  surprise  when  I  dis 
covered  that  the  place  and  the  people  are  more  like 
those  among  whom  I  was  brought  up  in  my  youth 
than  in  any  other  part  of  New  England  which  I 
have  visited.  Of  course,  I  am  speaking  of  its  ap 
pearance  in  the  summer,  for  this  is  July,  and  it 
might  be  early  June.  .  .  .' 

"You  don't  want  all  this — he  gives  simply  a 
description  of  the  distinction  in  classes  which  he 
was  surprised  to  find  here — 'many  of  the  fam 
ilies  having  their  coats  of  arms  and  other  relics 
of  the  gentry-class.'  Ah!  here  it  is.  Here  is  the 
description : 

"'I  was  invited  to  Colonel  H.'s  and  he  sent  down 
for  me  his  barge  manned  by  a  half  dozen  sturdy 
fellows,  just  as  might  have  been  sent  from  Shirley 
or  Rosewell  or  Brandon ;  and  on  my  arrival  I  found 
the  Colonel  awaiting  me  on  the  great  rock  which 

21 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

dispenses  with  any  need  for  a  pier,  except  a  float 
and  a  few  wooden  steps. 

:"He  has  one  of  the  pleasantest  seats  which  I 
have  found  in  all  my  travels — a  house  which,  though 
not  large,  would  have  done  justice  to  any  place  in 
Maryland  or  Virginia,  and  which  possesses  every 
mark  of  good  taste  and  refinement.  It  fronts  to  the 
south  and  is  bathed  in  sunlight  the  whole  day  long. 

"The  garden  immediately  caught  my  attention, 
and  I  think  I  might  say  I  never  saw  more  beautiful 
flowers,  which  surprised  me,  for  I  had  an  idea  that 
this  region  produced  little  besides  rocks  and  Puritan 
ical  narrowness:  of  which  more  anon.  The  garden 
lies  at  the  back  of  the  house,  beginning  on  a  level, 
with  formal  borders  and  grass-walks  where  the  turf 
is  kept  as  beautiful  as  any  that  I  ever  saw  in  Eng 
land,  and  where  there  is  every  variety  of  flower 
which  Adam  and  Eve  could  have  known  in  their 
garden.  In  the  first  place,  roses — roses — roses! 
Then  all  the  rest:  Rush-leaved  daffodils,  the  jon- 
quilles — "narcissi,"  the  Colonel's  sister  calls  them; 
phlox  of  every  hue;  hollyhocks,  peonies,  gillies — 
almost  all  that  you  have.  Then  the  shrubbery! — 


MISS   GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

lilacs,  syringas,  meadowsweet,  spiraea,  and  I  do  not 
know  how  many  more.  I  could  not  get  over  the 
feeling  that  they  had  all  been  brought  from  home. 
Indeed,  I  saw  a  fat  robin  sitting  in  a  lilac  bush  that 
I  am  sure  I  saw  at  home  two  months  ago,  and  when 
I  bowed  to  him  he  nodded  to  me,  so  I  know  he  is 
the  same.  On  the  land-side  the  garden  slopes  away 
suddenly  into  an  untilled  stretch  of  field  where  the 
wild  flowers  grow  in  unrivalled  profusion.  This  the 
Colonel's  sister  calls  her  "wild  garden."  A  field  of 
daisies  looked  as  if  it  were  covered  with  snow.  An 
old  fellow  with  a  face  wrinkled  and  very  like  a 
winter  apple,  told  me  that  one  "Sir  William  Pep- 
peril  brought  them  over,  and  that  is  the  reason  you 
don't  find  'em  anywhere  else  but  here."  I  did  not 
tell  him  of  my  friend  the  robin. 

"'By  the  way,  the  Colonel's  sister  is  a  very  charm 
ing  young  lady — dark  hair,  gray  eyes  with  black 
lashes,  a  mouth  which  I  think  her  best  feature,  and 
a  demure  air.  She  is  so  fond  of  her  garden  that  I 
call  her  Hortensia.'" 

"What's  that?" 

My  cousin  broke  into  a  silvery  laugh.  "You 
23 


UNDER    THE    CRUST 

know  now  where  I  got  my  name.  But  I  don't  think 
my  grandmother  ever  quite  forgave  her." 

She  closed  the  book. 

"  Now,  you  see  what  I  want — to  restore  it  exactly  as 
it  was,  and  only  to  add  what  will  carry  out  this  idea." 

"Are  you  going  to  have  a  gardener?" 

"Of  course " 

"A  landscape  gardener?" 

"Yes,  of  course!  And  a  man  to  furnish ihe  house 
by  contract — and  another  to  select  my  pictures  for 
me!"  Her  nose  was  turned  up,  and  she  was  chop 
ping  out  her  words  at  me. 

"Well,  you  need  not  be  so  insulted." 

"I  told  you  I  wanted  to  restore  it." 

"I  only  wanted  to  know  how  much  in  earnest  you 
are." 

"Well,  you  put  one  new  thing  in  that  house,  not 
in  keeping  with  the  idea  I  have,  and  you  will  know." 

IV 

WITH  the  first  opening  of  Spring  my  cousin  was 
at  work  on  her  "restoration."  She  had  the  good 
sense  to  select  as  her  head  workman — for  she  would 

24 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

have  no  contractor  either  in  or  out  of  the  house — 
a  local  carpenter — an  excellent  man.  But  even  with 
this  foresight  it  must  be  said  that  her  effort  at  res 
toration  was  not  received  with  entire  approbation 
by  her  new  neighbors.  The  gossip  that  was  brought 
to  her — and  there  was  no  little  of  it — informed  her 
that  they  considered  her  incoming  as  an  intrusion, 
and  regarded  her  with  some  suspicion  and  a  little 
disdain.  Some  of  them  set  out  evidently  to  make 
it  very  clear  to  her  that  they  did  not  propose  to  let 
her  interfere  in  any  way  with  their  habits  and  cus 
toms.  They  were  "as  good  as  she  was,"  and  they 
meant  her  to  know  it. 

In  time,  however,  as  she  pushed  on  with  her  work, 
always  good-natured  and  always  determined,  she 
began  to  make  her  way  with  them.  Silas  Freeman 
stood  her  in  good  stead,  for  he  became  her  fast 
friend. 

"She  is  rather  citified,"  he  agreed,  "but  she  can't 
help  that,  and  she  aint  a  bit  airified." 

I  was  present  on  an  occasion  when  one  of  the 
first  evidences  of  her  gradual  breaking  into  the 
charmed  circle  came.  The  work  on  the  house  was 

25 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

progressing  rapidly.  Rotted  pediments,  broken  win 
dow  frames,  unsound  cornices,  lost  spindles,  being 
replaced  by  their  exact  counterparts;  each  bit  that 
needed  renewal  or  repair  being  restored  with  abso 
lute  fidelity  under  her  keen  eyes.  And  all  the  time 
she  was  rummaging  around  through  the  country 
picking  up  old  furniture  and  articles  that  dated  back 
and  belonged  to  the  time  when  her  grandfather  had 
visited  the  place.  No  child  ever  enjoyed  fitting  up 
a  baby-house  more  keenly  than  she  enjoyed  fitting 
up  this  old  mansion. 

It  was  really  beginning  to  show  the  effect  of  her 
tact  and  zeal.  She  had  actually  gotten  two  or  three 
rooms  finished  and  furnished,  and  had  moved  in, 
"'the  better  to  see,  my  dear,'"  she  said  to  me. 
"Besides,  I  know  very  well  that  the  only  way  to 
get  workmen  out  of  a  house  is  to  live  them  out. 
I  mean  to  spend  this  summer  here." 

Outside,  too,  the  work  was  progressing  favorably, 
though  the  frost  was  scarcely  out  of  the  ground. 
The  rickety  buildings  were  all  removed  from  her 
cherished  ground  "where  once  the  garden  smiled" 
and  she  was  only  awaiting  a  favorable  season  to  lay 

26 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

out  her  garden  and  put  in  her  seeds  and  slips,  which 
were  already  being  gotten  ready. 

It  was  one  of  those  Sunday  afternoons  in  April 
when  Spring  announces  that  she  has  come  to  pay 
you  a  visit,  and  leaves  her  visiting  card  in  bluebirds 
and  dandelions.  The  bluebirds  had  been  glancing 
about  the  lawn  all  day,  making  dashes  of  vivid  color 
against  the  spruces,  and  even  a  few  robins  had  been 
flitting  around,  surveying  the  land  and  spying  out 
choice  places.  Dandelions  were  beginning  to  gleam 
in  favored  spots,  and  a  few  green  tufts  were  peeping 
up  where  jonquils  had,  through  all  discourage 
ments,  lived  to  shake  their  golden  trumpets  in 
sheltered  places. 

My  cousin  had  enjoyed  it  all  unspeakably.  She 
had  moved  all  day  like  one  in  a  trance,  with  softened 
eyes  and  gentle  voice.  Before  going  to  church  she 
had,  with  her  own  hands,  unwrapped  the  rose-bush 
she  had  observed  on  her  first  visit,  and  I  heard  her 
bemoaning  its  poor,  starved  condition.  "Poor  thing 
— you  are  the  only  real  old  occupant,"  I  heard  her 
murmur.  "You  shall  have  new  soil  and  I  hope  you 
will  live." 

27 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 
V 

THE  afternoon  had  been  perfect  and  the  sun  had 
just  stolen  over  toward  the  top  of  the  western  hill 
and  was  sending  his  light  across  the  yard,  tinging 
the  twigs  of  the  apple  trees  with  a  faint  flush  of 
pink,  and  we  were  watching  the  lengthening  shad 
ows  when  I  became  aware  that  there  was  someone 
standing  in  the  old  disused  road  just  outside  the 
yard.  She  was  an  old  woman,  and  there  was  some 
thing  so  calm  about  her  that  she  seemed  herself 
almost  like  one  of  the  shadows.  She  was  dressed  in 
the  plainest  way:  an  old  black  dress,  now  faded  to 
a  dim  brown,  a  coat  of  antique  design  and  appear 
ance,  in  which  a  faint  green  under  the  arms  alone 
showed  that  it,  too,  had  once  been  black,  a  little 
old  bonnet  over  her  thin  gray  hair,  which  was 
smoothed  down  over  her  ears  in  a  style  of  forty 
years  before. 

"There  is  someone,"  I  said  in  a  low  tone.  "Isn't 
she  quaint?" 

My  cousin,  seeing  that  she  was  a  poor  woman, 
moved  down  the  slope  toward  her. 

"Good  afternoon,"  she  said  gently. 
28 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

"Afternoon" — with  a  little  shift  of  her  position 
which  reminded  me  of  a  courtesy.  "Air  you  Miss 
Davison  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am  Mrs.  Davison." 

"The  one  't  bought  the  place?" 

"Yes,  I  am  that  one.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?"  The  tone  of  her  voice  was  so  kind  that  the 
old  woman  seemed  to  gain  a  little  courage. 

"Well,  I  thought  I'd  come  up  and  see  you  a 
moment  this  Sabbath  afternoon." 

"Won't  you  come  up  and  see  the  sunset?" 

"Well,  thank  you — perhaps  I  will,  if  it  will  not 
discompose  you." 

My  cousin  smiled  at  her  quaint  speech.  As  the 
visitor  came  up  the  slope  I  saw  her  small,  sunken 
eyes  sweep  the  grounds  before  her  and  then  rest  on 
the  rose-bush  which  my  cousin  had  unwrapped  that 
day. 

"It  is  so  beautiful  from  this  terrace,"  pursued  my 
cousin. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  the  visitor.  She  stood  and 
gazed  at  the  sky  a  moment,  then  glanced  half  fur 
tively  at  the  house  and  about  the  grounds,  and 

29 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

again  her  eyes  rested  on  the  rose-bush.  Her  faded 
weather-beaten  face  had  grown  soft. 

"I  have  seen  it  very  often  from  this  spot.  I  used 
to  live  here." 

"You  did!  Well,  won't  you  walk  into  the  house 
and  take  a  cup  of  tea  ?  I  have  just  ordered  tea  for 
my  cousin  and  myself." 

The  visitor  gave  me  a  somewhat  searching  look. 

"Well,  perhaps,  I  will,  thank  you."  As  she  fol 
lowed  my  cousin  in,  she  crossed  over  to  the  side  of 
the  walk  where  the  rose-bush  was,  and  her  wrinkled 
and  knotted  old  hand  casually  touched  it  as  she 
passed. 

My  cousin  went  off  to  see  about  the  tea,  and  I 
was  left  with  our  visitor.  She  was  pitifully  shabby 
and  worn-looking  as  she  sat  there,  with  shrunken 
shoulders  and  wrinkled  face  beaten  by  every  storm 
of  adversity,  and  yet  there  was  something  still  in 
the  gray  eyes  and  thin,  close-shut  lips  of  the  un 
conquerable  courage  with  which  she  had  faced  de 
feat.  She  was  too  dazed  to  say  much,  but  her  eyes 
wandered  in  a  vague  way  from  one  point  to  another, 
taking  in  every  detail  of  the  repair  and  restoration. 

30 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

The  only  thing  she  said  was,  "My! — My!  r  under 
her  breath. 

When  my  cousin  returned  and  took  her  seat  at 
the  little  tea-table  with  its  silver  service,  the  old  lady 
simply  sat  passive  and  dazed,  and  to  the  polite 
questions  of  the  former  she  answered  rather  at 
random. 

Yes,  she  was  a  girl  when  she  lived  there.  Her 
grandfather  had  left  her  the  right  to  use  one  of  the 
upstairs  rooms,  but  "they"  would  not  let  her  have 
it.  "They  did  not  like  her  to  come  on  the  place, 
so  she  didn't  come  much." 

My!  wasn't  the  tea  good — "so  sweet  and  warm- 
in'?" 

Every  now  and  then  she  became  distraite  and 
vague.  She  appeared  to  have  something  on  her 
mind  or  to  be  embarrassed  by  my  presence,  so  I 
rose  and  strolled  across  to  a  window,  and  from  there 
over  toward  the  door.  As  I  passed  I  heard  her 
state  timidly  the  object  of  her  visit. 

"I  heard  as  you  were  a-goin'  to  dig  up  every 
thing  and  set  out  fresh  ones,  so  I  came  to  ask  you, 
if  you  had  no  particular  use  for  it  and  were  goin* 

31 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

to  dig  it  up  anyway,  if  you  wouldn't  let  me  have 
that  old  rose-bush  by  the  walk.  I'd  like  to  take 
it  up  and  carry  it  up  to  the  graveyard 

"Of  course,  you  may  have  it." 

"You  see,  that's  the  only  thing  I  ever  owned!" 
pursued  the  visitor. 

I  saw  my  cousin  give  a  deep  and  sudden  catch 
ing  of  her  breath,  and  turn  her  head  away,  and  after 
a  grab  at  her  skirt  her  hand  went  up  to  her  face. 
The  old  woman  continued  quietly: 

"I  thought  I'd  write  to  you,  and  ask  you  about 
it;  but  then  I  didn't.  It  wasn't — just  convenient." 

"Of  course,  you — m "  My  cousin  could  not 

get  out  the  words.  There  was  a  second  of  silence 
and  then  with  shameless  and  futile  mendacity  she 
began  to  mutter  something  about  having  "such  a 
bad  cold."  She  rose  and  dashed  out  of  the  room, 
saying  to  me  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  as  she  passed : 

"Tell  her,  Yes." 

When  she  returned  to  the  room  she  had  a  fresh 
handkerchief  in  her  hand  and  her  eyes  were  still 
moist. 

Before  the  old  woman  left,  it  was  all  arranged. 
32 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

The  rose-bush  was  to  be  moved  whenever  Miss 
Godwin  wished  it;  but  meantime,  as  the  best  season 
for  moving  it  had  not  come,  my  cousin  was  to  take 
care  of  it  for  Miss  Godwin,  and  Miss  Godwin  her 
self  was  to  come  up  and  look  after  it  whenever  she 
wished,  and  was  certainly  to  come  once  a  week, 

"Well,  I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you,"  said  the  old  woman,  who  suddenly  appeared 
much  inspirited.  "I  never  would  have  ventured  to 
do  it  if  I  hadn't  heard  you  were  going  to  dig  up 
everything  anyhow,  and  I  wouldn't  have  asked  them 
in  any  case,  not  if  they  had  lived  till  Judgment  Day." 

When  Miss  Godwin  rose  to  go,  my  cousin  sug 
gested  that  we  should  walk  down  to  her  home  with 
her,  and  as  we  started  out  she  handed  me  several 
parcels  and  I  saw  that  she  herself  had  as  many  more. 

At  the  door  of  her  dark  little  habitation  Miss  God 
win  showed  some  signs  of  nervousness.  I  think  she 
was  slightly  alarmed  lest  we  might  insist  on  com 
ing  in.  My  cousin,  however,  relieved  her. 

"Here  are  a  few  little  things — tea  and  coffee  and 
sugar  and — just  a  few  little  things.  I  thought  they 
might  taste  a  little  better  coming  out  of  the  old 


UNDER  THE   CRUST 

house,  you  know."  She  was  speaking  at  the  rate  of 
two  hundred  words  a  minute. 

"Well " 

When  we  were  out  of  earshot  I  waited  for  her  to 
begin,  but  she  walked  on  in  silence  with  her  hand 
kerchief  doubled  in  her  hand. 

"Your  cold  seems  pretty  bad!"  I  said. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  cried  with  a  wail.  "That  poor 
little  half-starved  rose-bush!"  she  sobbed.  "The 
only  thing  she  ever  owned!  And  she  didn't  even 
have  a  stamp  to  write  and  ask  me  not  to  throw  it 
away!  I  wish  I  could  give  her  the  house." 

"What  would  she  do  with  it?" 

"Make  'them*  feel  badly!"  she  cried  with  sudden 

vehemence. 

VI 

ALL  that  spring  and  summer  my  duties  in  the  way 
of  helping  my  cousin  to  "clarify  her  ideas"  took  me 
from  time  to  time  to  Hamilton  Place,  and  every  week 
Miss  Godwin  used  to  come  to  look  after  her  "es 
tate,"  as  the  rose-bush  was  now  dubbed  Under 
the  careful  treatment  of  my  cousin's  gardener,  and 
watched  over  by  my  cousin's  hawk  eyes,  the  rose- 

34 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 

bush  appeared  to  have  gotten  a  new  lease  of  life, 
as  under  the  belated  sunshine  of  my  cousin's  friend 
liness  and  sympathy  the  faded  mistress  also  quite 
blossomed  out. 

Every  week  she  came  in  to  tea,  and  my  cousin, 
with  her  tact,  drew  her  on  to  sit  at  the  tea-table  and 
pour  tea. 

The  crowning  event  of  her  life  was  the  house- 
warming  that  my  cousin  gave  to  the  neighbors. 
They  were  all  there,  and  possibly  among  them  were 
some  whom,  as  my  cousin  had  said,  she  would  have 
liked  to  make  feel  badly.  Whatever  the  motive,  my 
cousin  invited  Miss  Godwin  to  pour  tea,  and  to  her 
mind,  not  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  arrayed  like 
her,  in  her  new  black  dress  with  "a  real  breast-pin." 

For  some  time  she  had  been  coming  every  day  to 
help  about  things,  but  much  of  her  time  was  spent 
in  pothering  about  the  rose-bush,  watching  two  buds 
that  were  really  beginning  to  give  promise  of  be 
coming  roses. 

"They  all  knew  now"  that  the  rose-bush  was  hers, 
and  she  wanted  "them  to  see  that  it  had  roses  on 
it."  They  had  said  "it  weren't  of  no  account." 

35 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

The  day  of  the  event  she  came  early.  The  sum 
mer  night  had  been  kind.  The  buds  were  real  roses. 
She  spent  much  of  the  day  looking  at  them.  No 
matter  what  she  was  doing  she  went  out  every  few 
minutes  to  gaze  at  them,  and  each  time  my  cousin 
watched  her  secretly  with  delight. 

Suddenly,  toward  afternoon,  just  when  the  guests 
were  expected,  I  heard  my  cousin  give  a  cry  of 
anguish:  "She  is  crazy!  She  is  cutting  them!" 
She  rushed  to  the  door  to  stop  her.  On  the  threshold 
she  met  Miss  Godwin.  She  was  pale,  but  firm  and 
a  trifle  triumphant. 

"Oh!    What  have  you  done?"  cried  my  cousin. 

Miss  Godwin  became  a  little  shy, 

"They  are  the  only  things  I  have,  and  I  would 
have  liked  you  to  wear  them  if  you  had  not  been 
in  black;  so  I  thought  I  would  put  them  in  a  vase 
for  you." 

"I  will  wear  one  and  you  shall  wear  the  other," 
said  my  cousin,  "and  then  I  will  press  mine  and 
keep  it." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  on  Miss  God 
win's  face. 

36 


MISS    GODWIN'S   INHERITANCE 
"Me? — My!—  '    with    a    deep    intaking    of    her 

breath.     "Why  I  haven't  worn  a  rose  in  fif — forty 

years!" 

I  have  reason  to  think  she  understated  it. 

My  cousin  took  one  of  the  roses — the  prettier  of 

the  two — and  without  a  word  pinned  it  on  her. 

When  the  guests  arrived  it  was  interesting  to 
watch  Miss  Godwin.  At  first  she  was  all  a-flutter. 
Her  face  was  pale  even  through  the  weather-beaten 
tint  of  her  faded  cheek,  and  her  eyes  followed  Mrs. 
Davison  with  mute  appeal.  But  in  a  little  space  she 
recovered  her  self-possession;  her  head  rose;  her 
pallor  gave  way  to  something  that  was  almost  color, 
and  she  helped  my  cousin  with  what  was  quite  an  air. 

My  cousin  could  not  have  done  a  cleverer  thing 
than  place  her  at  the  tea-table. 

Silas  Freeman  expressed  the  general  judgment. 
When  he  was  bidding  her  good-by  he  said,  with  a 
kindly  light  in  his  eyes,  "Weall,  I  guess  you  was 
about  right  in  that  thing  you  said  that  time." 

"What  was  that?" 

"That  you  wa'n't  altogether  city  folks." 
37 


THE  NEW   AGENT 


THE   NEW  AGENT 


JOE'S  first  recollection  of  Elizabeth  was  as  far 
back  as  the  time  when  his  mother  took  him,  the 
year  after  his  father  died,  to  see  Mrs.  Fostyn,  who 
had  been  her  schoolmate.  Joe  never  forgot  the 
wonders  of  that  visit.  The  fine  old  house  with  its 
carved  mantels  and  wainscoting,  amid  the  maples 
and  elms  on  Fostyn  Hill,  outside  of  Lebanon,  always 
remained  in  his  mind  as  the  grandest  he  had  ever 
seen.  The  silver  on  the  sideboard  was  enough,  it 
seemed  to  him,  to  have  served  all  Lebanon,  and 
there  were  horses  in  the  stable  which  were  only 
ridden  and  did  no  work.  It  must,  he  thought,  be 
a  great  thing  to  be  a  member  of  Congress.  He 
always  remembered  the  shock  of  hearing  old  man 
Grantham,  who  kept  the  store  two  or  three  miles 
below,  say  of  Mr.  Fostyn  that  "a  fool  and  his  money 

41 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

were  soon  parted."  It  was  the  first  time  he  was 
conscious  of  disliking  a  man  because  he  had  small 
eyes  set  close  together  and  wore  a  beard  under  his 
chin.  Elizabeth,  a  tangle-headed  tot  with  saucy 
eyes  and  a  face  where  dimples  played  hide-and- 
seek,  seized  on  him  as  her  slave  and  made  him  do 
her  utmost  bidding. 

When  next  he  saw  Elizabeth  she  was  a  half- 
opened  rosebud.  The  brown  hair  that  used  to  blow 
about  her  face  was  plaited  and  tucked  up  on  the 
nape  of  a  shapely  little  neck.  Her  eyes  were  saucier 
than  ever.  She  was  then  a  school-girl,  on  a  visit  to 
Mr.  Sewall,  the  superintendent  of  the  railway,  who 
had  been  a  friend  of  Joe's  father.  Joe,  meeting  her, 
assumed  the  position  of  an  old  friend,  and  got 
soundly  snubbed. 

"Miss  Elizabeth,  if  you  please,"  with  a  courtesy 
and  an  uptilt  of  the  bewitching  little  nose. 

Joe  laughed,  though  he  was  discomfited.  But 
being  bold,  six  feet  tall,  and  good-looking,  and  having 
just  left  school  and  gone  to  work  for  himself,  he 
tried  to  carry  it  off  and  play  the  man.  In  a  mo 
ment  of  daring,  there  being  no  one  by  but  a  fat 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

robin  in  a  lilac-bush,  he  caught  and  tried  to  kiss  her. 
He  nearly  got  his  head  slapped  from  his  shoulders. 
She  was  like  lightning,  and  her  rage  was  that  of 
a  tigress.  Her  eyes  actually  darted  fire.  His  apol 
ogy  only  appeared  to  make  her  more  furious.  She 
listened  to  him  till  he  was  through,  and  then,  when 
he  held  out  his  hand  in  friendship,  she  stepped  for 
ward,  as  he  thought,  to  take  it,  and,  with  her  white 
teeth  set  deep  in  her  lower  lip,  boxed  him  again 
with  all  her  might.  Then  Joe  was  angry!  He 
caught  and  kissed  her  twice  and  set  her  down 
crumpled  and  half  scared.  It  had  been  fire  against 
fire.  But  when  Joe  cooled  down  he  was  in  love  with 
the  little  spitfire.  After  that  he  saw  her  in  every 
apple-blossom,  every  rose,  every  violet,  and  that  she 
was  as  cruel  to  him  as  a  young  ogress  did  not  save 
him.  It  was,  therefore,  with  alacrity  that,  a  few 
months  after  Mr.  Fostyn's  death,  Joe  accepted  of  the 
superintendent  the  offer  of  the  agency  at  Lebanon. 
"Miss  Elizabeth,  if  you  please,"  had  just  ac 
cepted  the  position  of  teacher  of  the  little  Sewalls — 
and  Joe  felt  somehow  as  though  his  being  on  the 
railway  were  a  link  between  them. 

43 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"I  guess  you'll  do  well  enough  if  you  just  stick," 
said  the  superintendent,  glancing  appreciatively  at 
Joe's  steady  eyes,  high  cheek-bones  and  strong  chin. 

"I'll  stick."     Joe  thought  of  Elizabeth  Fostyn. 

"Well,  that's  what  I  want  you  to  do,  and  that's 
what  I  think  you  will  do,  too,  or  I  would  not  bother 
to  send  you  there.  It  ain't  any  easy  load  to  carry. 
There  is  a  might  of  work  to  do.  The  other  man  I 
sent  there  said  he  would  stick,  too,  but  old  Grantham 
worked  him  out — skeered  him — done  somethin'  to 
him — run  him  out,  anyway." 

"I'll  stick,"  said  Joe  again,  firmly,  his  gray  eyes 
set  steadily  on  the  superintendent's  granite  face. 

"All  right,"  said  the  superintendent,  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  had  had  an  unpleasant  duty  to 
perform  and  was  glad  he  had  gotten  through  with 
it.  He  fell  to  a  more  congenial  theme,  and  then 
began  to  curse  Grantham  again. 

II 

WHEN  the  Deacon  turned  the  widow  Fostyn  and 
her  daughter  out  of  their  old  home  on  the  southern 
slope  of  Fostyn  Hill  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket 

44 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

he  thought  he  had  done  a  very  smart  thing.  He 
prided  himself  on  doing  smart  things.  He  had 
gotten  possession  for  half  its  value  of  a  piece  of 
property  which  he  had  long  coveted,  and  finally,  by 
his  smartness,  had  choused  her  out  of  three  hundred 
dollars,  or,  to  be  more  accurate,  three  hundred  and 
six  dollars  and  twenty- three  cents.  This  last,  per 
haps,  gave  him  more  satisfaction  than  any  of  the 
other  things,  for  although  the  Deacon  was  not  in 
sensible  to  the  seduction  of  power  or  the  honeyed 
sweetness  of  revenge,  the  sweetest  thing  in  this 
world  to  him  was  Money — the  possession  of  money. 
He  loved  it.  He  had  always  loved  it  since,  as  a 
little  boy,  he  used  to  warm  his  chapped  hands  on 
the  pennies  in  his  pocket,  and  though  position  and 
authority  were  not  without  their  allurement,  and  he 
never  let  anything  pass  him  that  he  could  hold  on  to, 
they  had  their  drawback  in  that  they  cost  some 
money.  Not  a  great  deal  in  the  Deacon's  case; 
but  still  some.  "But  Money,"  as  he  used  to  say, 
"don't  cost  anything;  it  breeds  money."  It  was 
not  because  of  his  being  hard-hearted  that  he  was 
hard  on  the  widow,  but  because  of  his  avarice.  He 

45 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

could  weep,  or  make  a  fairly  watery  counterfeit  of 
it,  if  the  case  came  home  to  him,  and — it  did  not 
cost  him  anything.  But  if  it  promised  to  cost  even 
a  cent  his  face  became  rock.  It  grieved  him — that 
is,  it  almost  grieved  him — to  turn  the  widow  and  her 
daughter — such  a  pretty  girl,  too — from  the  home 
where  the  Fostyns  had  lived  so  long;  but  when  John 
Fostyn  made  the  last  payment  on  the  mortgage  that 
he  had  put  on  the  place  he  had  gotten  no  receipt 
for  it  from  the  Deacon,  and  when  he  died  suddenly 
the  Deacon  could  not  bring  himself  to  mention  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  paid.  He  considered  that 
Providence  was  in  some  sort  responsible  for  it.  It 
worried  him  a  good  deal  when  the  widow,  after  being 
turned  out,  instead  of  going  away,  as  he  had  sup 
posed  she  would — to  somewhere  in  Delaware,  w^here 
she  came  from — had  taken  a  small  house  right  on 
the  road  he  had  to  travel  when  he  went  to  the  sta 
tion,  where  she  took  in  "fine  sewing";  as  if,  thought 
the  Deacon,  anybody  was  fool  enough  to  pay  more 
for  "fine  sewing"  than  for  any  other  kind.  He 
felt  aggrieved  that  she  should  have  done  so  unkind  a 
thing.  It  looked  almost  malicious  in  her  to  sit  down 

46 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

where  every  time  he  passed  along  he  was  reminded 
of  the  three  hundred  and  six  dollars  and  twenty- 
three  cents.  And  he  had  once  thought  so  well  of 
her,  too! 

It  grieved  him  yet  more  when  Elizabeth  Fostyn, 
who  was,  altogether,  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  town, 
or,  for  that  matter,  in  the  county,  cut  his  son,  Jim, 
dead  on  the  road.  Jim  was  the  one  thing  near  to 
that  stony  organ  which  the  Deacon  called  his  heart. 

In  time,  however,  the  Deacon  quite  forgot  his 
worry  over  the  three  hundred  and  six  dollars  and 
twenty-three  cents,  and  he  wondered  at  his  dis 
quietude  over  the  announcement  of  the  appointment 
of  a  new  railway  agent  at  Lebanon  by  the  name  of 
Shannon.  Was  it  that  in  some  way  he  had  heard 
his  name  connected  with  that  of  the  Fostyns  ?  What 
was  it  ?  It  was  very  vague.  Some  one — oh,  yes,  it 
was  Jim  who  had  said  that,  "  if  it  were  not  for  that 
d — ned  Joe  Shannon"  he  might  stand  some  chance. 

So,  one  day,  the  Deacon  drove  up  to  Lebanon  and 
stopped  at  Squire  London's  store.  The  Squire  was 
the  only  man  in  Lebanon  he  envied  and  hated.  He 

47 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

envied  him  for  his  wealth  and  hated  him  for  his 
liberality  and  popularity.  His  store,  under  the  big 
elms,  was  the  general  rendezvous  of  the  town,  and 
here  all  the  news  could  be  learned.  What  the 
Deacon  heard  that  morning  was  not  reassuring.  He 
discovered  that  in  the  four  or  five  days  the  new  agent 
had  been  at  Lebanon  he  had  already  made  friends. 
Several  of  the  loungers  spoke  of  him  as  if  he  were 
quite  out  of  the  ordinary;  and  Squire  London 
plainly  liked  him. 

"Waal,  so  long — I  just  come  by  to  see  how  you 
folks  were."  And  the  Deacon  strode  on  up  to  the 
station  to  "look  him  over,"  and,  maybe,  to  "take  a 
fall  out  of"  the  new  agent. 

Ill 

IN  those  few  days  Joe  had  found  his  new  place 
much  pleasanter  than  he  had  expected.  The  hours 
were  long:  from  five  A.M.,  when  the  first  train  passed, 
to  nine  P.M.,  when  No.  13,  the  last  one  he  had  to 
report,  came  by.  He  had  to  act  as  station  agent, 
telegraph  operator  and  depot  hand ;  handling  all  the 
baggage  and  loading  and  unloading  the  freight — 

48 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

which  was  growing  rapidly;  but  he  was  young  and 
strong  and  he  was  making  his  own  living.  Besides, 
though  the  girl  with  saucy  eyes,  the  memory  of  whom 
had  brought  him  there,  was  away  from  home,  teach 
ing  school,  she  would,  he  knew,  be  back  at  Thanks 
giving,  and  now  and  then  a  letter  came  to  him, 
which,  though  cool  as  a  dewy  leaf,  lasted  him  for 
two  good  weeks. 

Lebanon,  too,  was  a  pleasant  place,  with  its  white 
houses  lying  under  its  great  elms,  with  the  hills 
sloping  away  in  the  sunshine;  and  the  people,  if 
reserved,  were  kind  and,  when  once  reached,  re 
sponsive.  Old  Solon  London,  the  principal  man  in 
town,  a  deacon  in  the  white  church,  trustee  of  the 
new  library,  director  in  the  brick  bank  and  general 
adviser  of  all  Lebanon,  had  been  kind  to  him;  had 
given  him  much  sound  advice:  not  to  put  too  much 
trust  in  what  certain  people  said — he  named  them 
frankly;  to  attend  to  his  own  business;  not  to  smoke 
cigars — which  "cost  more  money  than  a  young  man 
should  pay";  not  to  play  cards  for  money  with  men 
he  did  not  know,  and  not  to  marry  a  fool.  Among 
the  men  he  named  was  Deacon  Grantham. 

49 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"When  he  gits  confidential,  watch  him." 

Joe,  sitting  at  his  desk  next  day,  was  just  thinking 
of  the  Squire's  advice  when  the  Deacon  walked  in. 
He  had  a  noiseless  step. 

He  did  not  greet  Joe;  he  plunged  straight  into 
business.  This  was  always  his  way,  he  said. 

"Where's  the  agent?"  he  demanded. 

"Right  here,"  Joe  spoke  shortly,  for  the  Deacon's 
tone  was  raspy.  He  looked  up  quickly  enough  to 
catch  a  pair  of  shrewd  eyes  fastened  on  him  with  so 
piercing  a  glance  from  under  the  gray  brows  that  he 
was  instantly  alert.  The  next  second  the  glance  was 
withdrawn,  and  Joe  encountered  a  face  of  stone, 
with  a  pair  of  small,  deep  eyes  set  back  under  bushy 
eyebrows  which  half  hid  them;  a  nose  like  a  sickle; 
where  his  lips  should  have  been,  a  line;  a  heavy, 
grizzled  beard  under  the  chin,  cut  as  sharply  as 
wheat  is  cut  by  a  cradle,  and  a  big  Adam's-apple 
which  worked  up  and  down  in  his  long  neck. 

Joe  knew  instantly  that  this  was  Deacon  Grantham. 
He  knew  further  that  he  had  come  for  war — he  felt 
it  by  an  instinct,  and  his  blood  ran  warm :  he  girded 
himself  for  the  fray. 

50 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

"Where's  Millard?" 

"Somewhere  in  Minnesota." 

"Gone  away?" 

This  gave  Joe  the  advantage.  The  Deacon 
knew  that  he  had  gone,  and  Joe  knew  that  he 
did  so.  He  therefore  simply  nodded  and  got  him 
self  together. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"The  agent."  Joe  looked  at  his  silver  watch — 
partly  to  see  the  time  and  partly  to  appear  uncon 
cerned. 

"Is  there  anything  here  for  Deacon  Grantham?" 

"I  don't  know;  I'll  see."  Joe  took  his  freight- 
book  and  began  to  scan  its  pages.  He  took  his 
time  doing  it. 

"You  don't  appear  to  know  too  much  about  your 
business,  young  man,"  observed  the  Deacon. 

"No,  riot  too  much.  No,  I  don't  see  anything 
billed  to  Deacon  Grantham.  Is  that  his  name?" 

"His  name?  Don't  you  know  what  a  *  deacon* 
is  ?  Where  did  you  come  from,  young  man  ?  Who 
ever  heard  of  ' Deacon'  bein'  a  name?" 

He  spoke  with  rising  scorn,  and  Joe  waited. 
51 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"I  have.  I  know  a  whole  family  of  'Deacons/'1 
he  said  dryly. 

When  the  Deacon  drove  away  from  the  station  he 
knew  that  he  had  a  long  fight  on  his  hands.  Joe 
knew  it,  too.  The  Deacon's  last  words  as  he  gath 
ered  up  the  reins  over  his  thin  horse  were:  "Waal, 
young  man,  I  hope  next  time  you'll  know  Deacon 
Grantham." 

"I'll  not  forget  you,"  said  Joe  briefly. 

IV 

THE  hours  were  long  at  Lebanon,  and,  as  the 
superintendent  had  said,  the  work  was  hard,  but 
Joe  did  not  mind  that.  He  was  as  strong  as  an  ox 
and  could  sleep  like  a  log.  What  he  did  mind  was 
the  talk  that  now  and  then  reached  him  that  Deacon 
Grantham's  son  was  still  "settin'  up"  to  Elizabeth 
Fostyn,  and,  as  some  said,  was  "kind  o'  winnin'  her 
over."  "All  those  farms  were  bound  to  count  for 
something,"  said  the  village  gossips.  "And  then 
there  was  the  old  Fostyn  place.  It  was  natural 
she'd  like  to  get  back  there." 

This  disturbed  Joe  a  good  deal;  but  whenever  he 
52 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

got  a  little  note,  worded  as  carefully  as  a  copy-book, 
he  used  to  feel  that  it  was  impossible.  She  would 
not  have  given  him  so  much  good  advice  if  she  had 
not  been  interested  in  him.  "And  she  simply  could 
not  marry  that  Jim  Grantham." 

In  six  months  Joe  knew  all  the  people  in  Leb 
anon.  The  station  became  quite  a  rendezvous  for 
the  young  people,  especially  for  the  young  girls. 
It  was  remarkable  how  often  they  walked 
down  to  meet  friends  who  did  not  come  on  the 
trains. 

The  boys  used  to  gather  at  his  room  sometimes 
for  a  quiet  little  game  of  cards,  and  in  time  he  found 
it  was  being  talked  about.  Squire  London  gave 
him  a  hint  about  it.  "The  Deacon  says  you're 
ruinin'  the  morals  of  the  young  and  innercent,  Joe, 
and  you'd  better  stop.  Don't  let  him  git  a  line  on 
you."  So,  Joe  determined  to  stop.  But  one  night 
Jim  Grantham  was  in  town  and  he  insisted  on  hav^ 
ing  a  game  in  Joe's  room,  and  Joe  yielded.  He 
would  not  let  Jim  Grantham  bluff  him. 

It  was  not  his  duty,  but  it  was  his  custom,  to  go 
down  to  look  at  the  switch  at  night  before  going  to 

53 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

bed,  for  a  freight  train  came  by  late  at  night  and 
did  not  stop,  except  on  signal. 

This  night  the  game  was  so  close,  with  Jim 
Grantham  losing,  that  Joe  failed  to  go  until  he  heard 
the  train  pass.  The  next  moment  came  a  bumping 
and  a  crash,  which  he  knew  meant  that  the  train 
had  run  into  the  switch.  In  a  twinkling  he  was  on 
the  spot.  No  one  was  hurt  and  no  serious  damage 
was  done,  for  the  train  had  been  going  slowly. 
Only  one  box-car  had  been  jammed  and  broken, 
and  in  an  hour  or  two  the  train,  with  the  injured 
car  cut  out,  was  on  its  way  again;  but  Joe  felt  that 
his  days  at  Lebanon  were  numbered. 

Curiously,  the  first  thing  he  thought  of  was  old 
Deacon  Grantham — how  he  would  gloat!  The  next 
person  was  Elizabeth  Fostyn. 

Jim  Grantham  was  unusually  sympathetic.  "I 
swan!  that's  too  bad.  What're  you  goin*  to 
report?" 

"The  truth." 

"I  want  to  know!"  said  Jim,  blinking  incredu 
lously.  "Why  don't  you  tell  'em  you  had  just  been 
down  ?  I  ain't  goin'  to  give  you  away." 

54 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

"Because  I  had  not.  I  am  not  going  to  lie 
about  it." 

The  next  morning  he  sat  down  and  wrote  to  Mr. 
Sewall,  the  superintendent,  telling  him  the  facts. 
He  also  wrote  to  Miss  Elizabeth  Fostyn.  He  told 
her  he  would  undoubtedly  be  removed,  and  he 
thought  he  would  go  to  the  far  West.  He  hoped 
that  the  superintendent  would  write  and  scold  him, 
and  that  Miss  Elizabeth  would  write  and  beg  him 
not  to  go.  Neither  did  what  he  hoped  for.  Miss 
Elizabeth  wrote  and  scolded  him,  but  said  not  a 
word  about  his  not  going  West.  In  fact,  she  rather 
encouraged  the  idea.  "The  West  was  such  a  fine 
field  for  a  young  man,  if  he  did  not  play  cards 
too  much."  She  mentioned,  casually,  that  she 
had  already  heard  of  the  accident  from  "Mr. 
Grantham." 

The  very  next  day  after  the  accident  Deacon 
Grantham  drove  up.  Joe's  jaw  squared  and  his  lips 
tightened  as  he  heard  his  voice. 

"Waal,  young  man,  I  hear  you've  had  an  acci 
dent.  Guess  you'll  be  joining  Millard  out  in  Min- 

55 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

nesoty?"  said  the  Deacon,  warming  his  hands  at 
the  stove. 

"Well,  if  I  do  it  won't  be  because  anybody  here 
sent  me  there,"  flashed  Joe  over  his  shoulder. 

"Nor — guess  it'll  be  the  railroad  company'll  do 
thet.  Blessin'  warn't  nobody  hurt." 

Joe  was  so  exasperated  that  he  forgot  himself. 

"There's  nothing  here  for  Deacon  Grantham," 
he  said  pointedly.  The  next  second  he  regretted  it 
for  the  Deacon's  eyes  blinked  with  a  gratified  light 
in  them. 

"So  you  remember  me?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  you."  Joe  was  growing  cool 
again. 

"Waal,  young  man,  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of 
advice." 

"Don't  waste  it." 

The  Deacon  shot  a  wicked  glance  at  him. 

"Next  time  you  set  up  all  night  gamblin'  see  thet 
your  switch  is  locked." 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  unlocked  ?"  demanded 
Joe,  facing  the  Deacon  suddenly  with  so  level  a 
glance  that  the  latter  almost  jumped. 

56 


THE   NEW  AGENT 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  about  it,  but  thet's  what 
I  heard,"  he  said,  blinking  uneasily.  "But  you 
needn't  be  gettin'  so  hot  about  it,  young  man." 

"I'll  make  it  hot  for  the  scoundrel  who  undid 
that  lock  if  I  ever  find  him." 

"Who  says  the  lock  was  tampered  with?" 

"I  do." 

"Any  suspicions  who  done  it?"  The  Deacon's 
voice  had  grown  confidential. 

"No.     If  I  had  I'd  send  him  to  the  penitentiary." 

The  Deacon's  face  took  on  a  look  of  relief. 

"Young  man,  it's  an  awful  thing  to  bring  a  charge 
like  that  against  a  community,"  he  began  severely. 
"This  is  a  law-abidin'  community,  and  it  ain't  wise 
for  a  young  man  like  you  to  lay  sich  an  accusation 
against  it." 

"I  am  not  bringing  any  accusation  against  the 
community.  I  am  bringing  it  against  the  scoun 
drel " 

The  Deacon  turned  his  eyes  up  slightly. 

The  superintendent  was  sitting  in  his  office  the 
evening  after  he  received  Joe's  letter  when  there 

57 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

was  a  faint  tap  on  the  door,  and  Elizabeth  Fostyn 
walked  in.  She  looked  somewhat  nervous — indeed, 
even  agitated,  a  thing  so  rare  with  her  that  the 
superintendent  observed  it. 

"She  has  had  trouble,"  he  thought  to  himself; 
"I  wonder  if  it  is  one  of  the  children,  or  if  she  wants 
money?" 

So  he  was  somewhat  guarded  when  he  spoke. 

"Well?"  he  began  doubtfully. 

She  walked  up  and  stood  opposite  him  on  the 
other  side  of  the  table,  on  which  she  rested  the 
knuckles  of  her  hands. 

"I  hear  you  have  had  an  accident  up  at  Leba 
non?" 

"Oh — yes.  We  have  had  an  accident  there. 
That  young  man  left  the  switch  open." 

"Did  he  leave  it  open  ?    You  are  sure  it  was  he  ?" 

"Well,  it  was  left  open.  Same  thing.  He  didn't 
see  that  it  was  shut.  Cost  us  money.  And  might 
have  killed  the  men." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  she  said:  "Are  you 
going  to  discharge  him?" 

"Why — ah "  began  the  superintendent  slowly. 

58 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

As  he  glanced  up  his  eyes  fell  on  her  face  and  her 
color  suddenly  deepened. 

"Because  I  do  not  think  it  will  happen  again." 
She  had  evidently  supposed  he  ,  was  asking  her  a 
question. 

"Is  he  anything  to  you?"  demanded  the  superin 
tendent,  wondering  if  Joe  were  her  cousin.  He  was 
surprised  to  see  the  rich  color  flush  her  face  and 
brow,  and  even  warm  her  round  throat. 

"He  is  an  old  friend  of — of  ours."  Her  eyes 
were  steady,  and  the  superintendent,  grizzled  and 
battered  by  work,  was  suddenly  aware  of  their 
depth  and  beauty.  He  looked  down  and  shuffled 
his  papers. 

"I  do  not  believe  he  left  the  switch  open,  and  I 
believe  if  you  are  lenient  with  him  he  will  justify  it," 
pursued  Elizabeth;  and  the  superintendent,  whose 
eyes  were  on  her  hands,  suddenly  observed  that  the 
knuckles  resting  against  the  table  were  white  with 
the  pressure. 

"I  do  not  expect  to  discharge  him,  but  I  will 
make  him  pay  for  the  damage,"  he  said  briefly. 

Elizabeth  had  moved  around  the  table  and  was 
59 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

standing  close  to  him  as  he  ended.  She  suddenly 
bent  over  and,  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
kissed  him  warmly.  The  next  second  she  turned 
and  dashed  from  the  room. 

The  superintendent  sat  for  some  moments  in  a 
reverie  of  pleased  surprise. 

"That  girl  has  heart,  after  all,"  he  said;  "I 
thought  she  had  only  intellect." 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  until  later  to  wonder  if 
she  had  a  deeper  interest  in  Joe  than  the  somewhat 
reserved  allowance  of  formal  friendship  with  which 
she  treated  all  young  men.  And  when  he  sug 
gested  the  idea  to  Mrs.  Sewall,  that  clear-sighted 
woman  rejected  it  with  what  was  very  near  to  scorn. 


A  FEW  days  later,  as  the  train  came  in,  the 
superintendent  swung  himself  down  from  it.  Joe's 
eyes  fell  on  him  before  he  had  touched  the  platform. 
He  knew  his  time  had  come.  He  determined  to 
meet  his  fate  like  a  man.  So  he  attended  to  his 
duties,  and  when  the  train  had  gone  on  and  he  had 
dispatched  his  report,  he  went  out  and  met  the 

60 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

superintendent.  His  face  was  grim  enough  and  he 
was  suspiciously  polite. 

"Well,  you  had  a  bad  accident  here  the  other 
night?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I'm  glad  it  was  no  worse." 

"How  did  it  happen?" 

"Just  as  I  wrote  you — I  neglected  to  look 
at  the  switch  before  going  to  bed,  and  it  was 
unlocked." 

"M-hm!     Think  some  one  tampered  with  it?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that — looks  so;  but  I  don't 
lay  it  to  that.  If  I  had  gone  there,  as  I  always  had 
before,  it  wouldn't  have  happened." 

"M-hm!     Well,  let's  go  down  and  look  at  it." 

They  walked  down  the  track  in  silence,  and 
when  they  reached  the  spot  Joe  explained  how 
every  thing  occurred.  As  they  strode  back  in 
silence,  Joe  said: 

"I  suppose  you  have  come  to  turn  me  off — so  I 
have  got  everything  straight — my  books  are  all  ready 
— and — everything.  But  I  want  to  say  that  if  you 
are  afraid  I'll  ever  do  thai  again  you  need  not  turn 
me  off.  If  you  leave  me  here  I  may  make  mistakes, 

61 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

but  I'll  never  make  that  mistake  again  as  long  as  I 
live." 

He  did  not  see  the  gleam  of  amusement  in  the 
superintendent's  eyes,  or  the  fleeting  twitch  of 
his  lip. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  are  ready  to  pay  the  repair 
bill  on  that  car  and  cowcatcher?"  said  the  other 
dryly. 

"I  am;   I  think  that's  just." 

The  superintendent  shot  a  side  glance  at  him  out 
of  the  tail  of  his  eye  and  walked  on  in  silence.  He 
was  a  big,  broad-shouldered  man,  with  grizzled  hair, 
a  wholesome  face  and  keen  eyes.  When  they  got 
to  the  station  he  said: 

"I  will  send  you  the  bill.  If  I  make  you  pay  it 
you  may  be  of  some  account  some  day.  I'm  going 
to  give  you  another  trial.  But  if  you  can't  play 
cards  and  lock  your  switch,  too,  give  up  cards." 

"I  will.  Thank  you,  sir.  I  will  justify  your 
kindness."  He  thought  of  Deacon  Grantham  and 
then  of  Elizabeth. 

What  the  superintendent  was  thinking  was,  "I 
wonder  if  that  girl  wrote  him  to  say  that.  Those 

62 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

were  the  very  words  she  used  when  she  came  to  ask 
me  not  to  turn  him  off." 

Joe  found  his  life  in  Lebanon  not  so  pleasant  as  it 
had  been  at  first.  The  Deacon  had  spread  around 
a  story  that  he  not  only  was  leading  the  young  men 
astray,  but  that  he  had  charged  the  community  with 
a  crime,  and  his  popularity  somewhat  waned.  Squire 
London  and  some  others  still  stood  by  him,  but  many 
looked  at  him  askance.  Another  aggravation  was 
that  Miss  Elizabeth  Fostyn  was  not  coming  home 
for  her  holiday.  She  was  going  to  Portsmouth,  and 
Joe  had  learned  that  Jim  Grantham  was  going  to 
Portsmouth,  too.  "By  George!  they'd  better  lock 
their  switches,"  said  Joe  to  one  of  his  friends.  But 
this  ebullition  gave  him  little  comfort.  In  fact,  the 
world  held  little  comfort  for  him  that  autumn  and, 
if  it  had  not  been  that  to  leave  the  field  would  have 
been  taken  as  an  admission  of  defeat  by  the  Gran- 
thams,  Joe  would  have  pulled  out  and  have  gone 
West,  whither  the  cords  of  adventure  were  drawing 
him.  Joe  heard  that  the  Deacon  had  said  that  he 
was  going  to  run  him  out  of  town.  And  this  made 
him  stick. 

63 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

VI 

THAT  year  the  cold  weather  set  in  suddenly  and 
with  unknown  severity.  After  a  beautiful  autumn 
there  came  a  long  raw  spell,  with  the  skies  as  dull  as 
lead.  Every  one  said  "Snow."  But  it  did  not  snow. 
For  days  the  snow  simply  piled  up  in  the  skies.  Then 
one  morning  it  began  to  fall,  at  first  in  small,  feath 
ery  flakes,  softly,  slowly;  then  rapidly;  and  then  about 
midday  the  wind  whipped  around  to  the  north 
east,  and  it  changed  to  fine,  swift-falling  particles 
that  filled  the  air.  When  evening  came  it  turned 
to  a  dense,  driving  storm.  The  temperature  ran 
down  like  a  clock  and  the  wind  blew  in  every  direc 
tion.  Minute  particles,  driven  by  the  wind,  stung 
like  shot  and  drove  through  every  chink  and  cranny. 

The  term  "blizzard"  was  not  yet  known,  but  the 
storm  was.  It  was  born  that  night. 

About  dark  Joe  telegraphed  down  the  line  and 
learned  that  the  passenger  train  which  had  started 
would  not  come  through,  but  would  be  stopped  at 
a  little  town  some  ten  or  more  miles  below  Lebanon. 
So,  as  the  office  grew  cold  and  the  storm  was  raging 

64 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

outside,  driving  the  fine  snow  in  at  every  crack 
Joe  filled  his  stove  and  went  supperless  to  bed 
in  his  little  room  next  to  the  office.  Without,  the 
snow  was  climbing  steadily  up  the  wall,  and  even 
within,  it  lay  in  little  down-like  rifts  along  the  floor. 
Joe  had  hardly  gotten  to  sleep  when  he  began  to 
dream  that  he  was  being  called,  but  as  he  knew  it 
was  a  dream  he  did  not  stir;  he  only  snuggled  closer 
under  his  blankets  and  was  glad  he  knew  a  dream 
when  it  came.  Then  the  call  began  to  worry  him: 
"Leb. — Leb. — Leb."  He  waked,  and  it  was  not  a 
dream  at  all.  There  was  a  switch  at  the  foot  of  his 
bed,  and  the  instrument  was  click-clicking  "Leb. — 
Leb. — Leb."  as  hard  as  it  could  rattle.  Half  asleep 
still,  he  scrambled  out  of  bed  and  catching  the  key 
asked  who  it  was  that  wanted  him  and  what  in  the 
thunder  he  wanted.  The  reply  waked  him  wide 
enough.  An  engine  and  a  plough  were  wanted  at 
once  from  Upton,  six  miles  beyond  Lebanon,  and 
Upton  could  not  be  awakened :  the  wires  were  prob 
ably  down.  The  evening  train  was  stuck  fast  in  a 
snowdrift  near  Pike  River  Bridge,  eight  miles  below 
Lebanon  and  three  miles  from  the  nearest  station; 

65 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

the  fires  were  out,  and  unless  succor  could  be  gotten 
to  them  some  of  the  passengers  might  perish.  The 
train  was  full  of  women  and  children.  Word  must 
be  got  to  Upton  at  once. 

"I'll  get  word  there  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  Joe. 

In  six  minutes  Joe  was  in  his  clothes  and  heavy 
boots,  and  in  two  more  he  had  prepared  himself  as 
well  as  he  could  for  what  he  knew  would  be  a  bitter 
ride.  Tying  his  overcoat  collar  around  his  neck 
over  his  muffler  with  a  handkerchief,  and  his  cap 
down  over  his  ears  with  another;  knotting  his 
sleeves  tightly  at  the  wrists,  as  he  did  when  he  went 
sliding,  he  pulled  on  his  gloves. 

He  knew  it  was  to  be  a  hard  ride;  but  when  he 
opened  the  door  and  stepped  out  into  the  night  he 
knew  it  was  to  be  a  fight  for  life.  The  storm  seemed 
to  have  increased  tenfold  since  he  went  to  bed,  and 
the  air  was  filled  with  fury.  The  snow  stung  his 
face  as  if  it  had  been  shot.  He  plunged  through 
the  drifts  for  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  to  the  livery 
stable  and  began  hammering  on  the  door.  It  was 
some  minutes  before  he  could  make  any  one  hear; 

66 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

but,  presently,  a  man  half  dressed  and  half  asleep 
opened  the  door  a  little  way  and  with  an  oath  let 
him  in.  When  he  saw  Joe  and  learned  his  errand 
the  oath  changed  to  sheer  and  undisguised  blas 
phemy.  He  would  be  eternally  destroyed  before 
any  horse  of  his  should  leave  his  stable  that  night. 
"No  man  nor  beast  can  make  that  ride  to-night," 
he  declared. 

"One  man  is  going  to  make  it,"  said  Joe,  "and 
if  I  can't  get  a  horse  I  will  make  it  on  foot;  but  I 
want  a  horse.  There  are  women  and  children  in 
that  train,  man,  and  the  fire  is  out." 

After  much  hesitation  and  some  bargaining,  to 
gether  with  considerable  advice  and  repeated  assur 
ances  that  if  his  horse  were  hurt  he  would  look  both 
to  the  railroad  company  and  to  Joe  for  two  hundred 
dollars,  the  man  saddled  and  brought  out  what  Joe 
knew  to  be  the  stoutest  horse  in  his  stable.  He  was 
a  short-coupled,  broad-backed  sorrel,  with  a  strong, 
sinewy  neck,  flat  bones,  a  deep  chest  and  muscles  of 
steel.  His  chestnut  coat,  his  broad  brow  and  his 
wide,  clear  eyes  bespoke  the  Morgan  strain  that  had 
made  the  horses  of  the  region  famous;  and  Joe,  who 

67 


UNDER    THE    CRUST 

had  been  reared  among  horses,  and  had  a  farmer's 
eye  for  a  good  one,  felt  himself  kindle  as  he  recog 
nized  the  horse.  He  had  driven  him  once  when  he 
went  to  see  Elizabeth  Fostyn,  and  the  horse  was 
always  associated  in  his  mind  with  a  perfect  summer 
day,  amid  beeches  and  maples,  with  the  grass  dap 
pled  beneath  them  by  the  sifted  sun-light.  He  remem 
bered  that  she  kissed  the  horse,  and  how  he  envied 
him.  He  felt  it  was  a  good  augury  to  have  this 
horse  walk  out  of  the  stable  for  him,  and  he  drew 
near  and  patted  him  as  Bragdall  tightened  the  girths 
and  adjusted  the  stirrups. 

"He's  a  good  horse;   I  know  him." 

"Guess  everybody  knows  him,"  said  Bragdall; 
"he  used  to  belong  to  John  Fostyn,  and  you  know 
he  had  the  best — wouldn't  have  no  other  kind;  he'll 
take  you  there  if  any  horse  will,  but  I  wouldn't  try 
it  to-night  for  every  horse  in  this  stable." 

"No  more  would  I,"  said  Joe,  "but  I'll  go  all  the 
same." 

"If  he  gets  in  a  drift  let  him  have  his  head; 
he'll  plunge  out;  and  if  he  should  stick  just  get 
off  him  and  give  him  a  loose  rein.  He  can 

68 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

break  a  track  better  than  most  men.  Got  a  mite 
more  sense." 

"I'll  do  it— I  know  about  it." 

"Don't  you  want  a  good  dram ?  I've  got  a  bottle 
• — you'd  better  take  it  along " 

Joe  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  want  my  wits  to-night." 

"That's  so.  Well,  I've  got  a  pot  of  coffee — by 
the  stove — I  take  it  of  a  morning." 

"I'll  take  that,  thank  you." 

Joe  lifted  the  pot,  and,  on  the  owner's  invitation 
to  take  as  much  as  he  wanted,  drained  it. 

"That  ought  to  keep  you  awake  till  Judgment 
Day,"  said  Bragdall  as  Joe  mounted.  "Here, 
take  this  and  wrap  it  around  you  under  your  knees 
—so." 

He  threw  a  heavy  horse-blanket  across  the  horse 
in  front  of  the  saddle  and  tucked  it  under  Joe's 
knees. 

"If  I  lose  that  horse  the  railroad's  got  to  pay  me 
for  him." 

Joe  was  settling  himself  into  the  saddle. 

"You    ain't    going   to    lose    him;     but    if    you 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

do,  it  won't  make   much   difference   to   me  what 
you  get." 

"Guess  that's  so.  Now  for  it!  Let  him  take  his 
time."  He  opened  the  door.  The  blast  nearly 
swept  Joe  from  his  saddle,  but  the  next  moment, 
with  body  bent  and  head  ducked  low,  he  was  out  in 
its  full  sweep. 

VII 

THE  snow  was  nearly  up  to  the  girths  on  the 
level,  and  in  drifts  was  up  to  the  saddle-skirts,  and 
the  road  lying  to  the  northeastward  made  the  ride, 
for  the  most  part,  in  the  teeth  of  the  storm.  The 
horse,  as  if  knowing  what  was  before  him,  after 
the  first  balk  when  the  storm  struck  him,  buckled 
down  to  his  work,  and  with  ears  laid  back,  and  head 
firmly  set  a  little  sidewise,  struck  straight  for  the 
upper  end  of  town.  After  the  first  chill  the  work 
seemed  to  warm  up  both  horse  and  rider,  and 
wherever  the  snow  had  blown  from  the  road  Joe 
pushed  to  a  trot.  By  the  time  he  got  into  the  open 
country  he  found  the  snow  deeper,  and  he  was  glad 
to  be  able  to  keep  steadily  ahead,  even  at  a  walk. 

70 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

Soon  all  trace  of  the  track  was  lost  in  the  swirl,  and 
he  guided  his  horse  by  the  tops  of  the  trees,  which 
he  could  dimly  see  on  each  side  of  the  road,  through 
the  blinding  sheet  that  enveloped  him  and  the  splin 
ters  of  ice  that  drove  across  his  face  and  beat  down 
his  eyelids. 

As  the  time  passed  the  warmth  died  out  in  his 
body  and  he  began  to  grow  deadly  cold.  Some 
times  the  snow  would  lie  in  drifts  as  high  as  his 
horse's  back;  but,  as  the  stableman  had  said,  he 
knew  how  to  plunge  out  of  it.  Twice  he  stuck  and 
stood  helplessly  still,  and  Joe  got  off  him  and 
helped  him  to  free  himself,  but  the  last  time  he  dis 
mounted  he  was  so  stiff  and  found  so  much  difficulty 
in  remounting  that  he  determined  not  to  get  off 
again.  He  could  scarcely  pull  the  blanket  over  him. 
How  far  off  the  treetops  were !  Then  a  new  trouble 
beset  him:  he  began  to  get  sleepy.  He  knew  that 
he  must  keep  awake  at  every  cost,  so  he  began  to 
think  of  the  poor,  freezing  people  in  the  train.  He 
pictured  Elizabeth  as  being  among  them.  From 
this  he  drifted  to  the  days  he  had  spent  with  her — 
few  and  precious  as  gold,  among  the  summer  woods. 

71 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

How  happy  he  was  then!  How  warm!  He  almost 
fancied  himself  back  among  the  trees,  with  the  sun 
shine  sifting  through,  dappling  the  ground  and  fall 
ing  on  her  hair  and  face.  This,  too,  made  him 
drowsy,  and  he  awoke  with  a  start  to  find  his  horse 
standing  still,  with  his  tail  to  the  storm.  For  a 
second  he  thought  the  storm  had  lulled;  then  a 
horror  seized  him  and  shook  him  wide  awake.  Had 
his  horse  turned  around?  If  so  he  was  lost,  and 
with  him  all  the  women  and  children  in  the  car. 
Slipping  from  the  saddle,  in  an  agony  of  fear,  he 
stopped  to  see  if  there  were  any  sign  of  the  track 
he  had  made.  Yes,  thank  God!  at  last,  there  was 
the  track,  beyond  doubt — there  was  the  blanket  he 
had  dropped,  already  nearly  covered  by  the  snow. 
He  seized  it  and,  throwing  it  over  the  horse,  man 
aged  to  scramble  up  again,  and  turning,  headed 
once  more  in  the  face  of  the  storm.  Fear  now  kept 
him  awake,  for  his  horse  appeared  to  be  giving  out. 
He  began  to  pray,  and,  like  most  men  in  such  a  case, 
to  make  resolutions  and  pledges. 

Once  more,   however,   the  drowsiness  began  to 
steal  over  him  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do,  and  it  took 

72 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

all  his  resolutions  and  prayers  to  keep  awake.  He 
felt  sure  that  he  would  never  reach  his  destination, 
and  it  seemed  useless  to  try.  But  the  thought  of  how 
it  would  please  Deacon  Grantham  stimulated  him. 
Just  then  the  trees  by  which  he  was  guiding  seemed 
to  grow  denser  on  one  side  and  to  be  all  of  one 
height,  and  the  next  moment  something  like  a  dim 
light  appeared  among  them.  At  first  he  thought  he 
was  dreaming,  and  then  it  came  to  him  that  this  was 
a  house.  He  was  in  Upton.  With  a  rush  came 
consciounesss  and  a  clear  apprehension  that  he  must 
hold  out  a  little  longer.  A  few  moments  later  he 
had  reached  the  office,  and  tumbling  from  his  horse 
he  began  to  feel  for  the  door.  He  tried  to  call,  but 
the  sound  died  at  his  lips.  Twice  he  thought  he  had 
it,  but  each  time  he  was  at  fault — then  he  felt  a 
plank  and  began  to  thump  it  with  his  numb  hands 
and  to  push  against  it  in  a  dazed  way.  It  suddenly 
gave  way  before  him,  and  he  fell  full  length  on  the 
floor. 

"Joe  Shannon!     How  did  you  get  here?" 
"My   horse  —  train   stuck  —  engine — plough — 't 
once,"  and  with  this  Joe  rolled  over. 

73 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"He's  dead,"  said  the  agent. 

Dead  he  might  have  been  if  the  man  had  not 
known  what  to  do;  but  after  a  vigorous  rubbing 
with  snow  to  restore  the  circulation  he  poured  a 
stimulant  down  his  throat,  and  presently  dragged 
him  to  the  stove  and  began  to  rub  and  chafe  him 
all  over,  and  so  brought  him  to. 

When  the  relief  engine  and  plough  were  ready  to 
start,  Joe,  rolled  in  blankets,  was  being  lifted  into 
the  agent's  bed.  He  unexpectedly  rose  up. 

"Where  ami?" 

"You're  all  right,"  said  his  friend.  He  was  put 
ting  on  his  overcoat. 

Joe  sat  up. 

"It's  true.  I  was  afraid  it  was  a  dream — where's 
my  horse?" 

"  All  right — in  the  stable.    You  go  to  sleep  and  rest." 

"The  train?    Where  are  you  going?" 

"We  are  just  starting ' 

"I'm  going,  too."  Joe  sprang  from  the  bed, 
dragging  all  the  blankets  with  him. 

His  friend  thought  he  was  a  little  daft,  or,  pos 
sibly,  tight  with  what  he  had  taken. 

74 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  my  blank 
ets?"  he  asked  indulgently. 

"Take  'em  with  me.  I'll  never  stir  another  step 
as  long  as  I  live  without  taking  all  the  blankets  in 
sight.  I'd  be  in  Kingdom-come  but  for  that  bracer 
and  blankets.  And  that  car  is  full  of  women  freez 
ing  to  death.  Get  all  the  wraps  you  can." 

"I  guess  you  can  come,"  said  his  friend. 

It  was  a  slow  run,  if  that  can  be  called  a  run 
which  is  never  more  than  a  creep,  and  often  con 
sisted  only  of  repeated  buttings  and  bumpings  into 
the  white  drifts  piled  high  in  the  cuts.  At  last  there 
was  a  cry.  Faintly  glimmering  through  the  sheet 
that  wrapped  everything  in  its  icy  folds  was  a  light. 
They  were  almost  against  the  engine  before  they 
were  seen.  The  engineer  and  fireman  were  down 
in  the  cab  sheltering  themselves  from  the  sweep  of 
the  storm.  By  the  time  they  halted,  Joe,  seizing  his 
blankets,  sprang  down,  and,  plunging  forward,  made 
his  way  to  the  passenger-car.  As  he  pushed  open 
the  door  the  scene  within  staggered  him. 

Half  the  people  in  the  car  were  huddled  together, 
75 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

three  or  four  in  a  seat,  while  the  others  were  rushing 
up  and  down  the  aisle,  apparently  playing  a  game 
under  the  direction  of  a  young  woman  who  was 
standing  on  a  seat  and  ever  shouting  to  them, 
"Faster!  Faster!"  while  she  slapped  her  hands  and 
encouraged  them. 

Joe's  first  idea  was  that  they  had  all  gone  crazy. 
His  next  was  that  he  was  crazy  himself,  to  think 
that  the  girl  standing  on  the  seat,  with  her  back  to 
him,  drilling  the  crowd  with  her  waving  arms,  could 
be  Elizabeth  Fostyn.  At  his  words, "  Relief  engine ! " 
pandemonium  broke  loose.  A  sudden  life  was 
thrown  into  every  vein.  Men  and  women  crowded 
around  him,  asking  a  hundred  questions  at  once, 
and  telling  him  how  they  had  been  kept  alive  by  a 
girl.  Joe  tried  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her,  but  she  had 
disappeared.  As  Joe  pushed  his  way  through  the 
throng,  Elizabeth  Fostyn  arose  from  a  seat. 

"Oh,  Joe!" 

A  little  child  was  in  her  arms,  wrapped  in  her  cape. 

Joe  jerked  off  his  overcoat,  and  against  her  pro 
test  folded  her  in  it. 

"I  thought,  perhaps,  you  would  come,"  she  said. 
76 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

It  was  not  much,  but  it  sent  the  blood  singing 
through  Joe's  veins.  He  said  truly  that  he  was 
"warm  enough." 

VIII 

AFTER  this  Joe  was  popular  enough  in  Lebanon 
not  to  mind  the  Deacon's  flings  and  fleers.  But  his 
real  reward  was  Elizabeth's  smiles.  Life  appeared 
to  Joe  to  have  opened  up  again,  and  though  Eliza 
beth,  after  the  first  glimpse  into  her  soul,  which  had 
flooded  him  with  light  and  given  him  a  glimpse  into 
the  inner  Heaven,  shut  to  the  doors  again  and  left 
him  in  semi-darkness,  it  was  no  longer  the  outer 
darkness  in  which  he  had  groped,  but  only  a  sort 
of  twilight,  and  on  the  far  horizon  was  the  glimmer 
of  a  new  hope.  She  might  be  capricious,  even  per 
verse;  but  he  knew  now  that  she  was  not  going  to 
marry  that  hatchet-faced  Grantham.  He  almost 
forgot  to  hate  old  Grantham,  though  not  quite.  He 
would  never  forget  that  so  long  as  the  Deacon  held 
on  to  Elizabeth's  home.  Besides,  the  Deacon  did 
what  he  could  to  keep  himself  in  mind.  Joe  heard 
of  many  evil  things  he  said  of  him.  He  knew  now 

77 


UNDER    THE    CRUST 

that  it  was  through  the  Deacon  that  the  superintend 
ent  had  first  heard  of  the  accident  at  the  switch,  as 
Elizabeth  had  learned  it  from  Jim  Grantham. 
How  had  he  known  it  so  early?  This  was  what 
Joe  was  working  on. 

When  Deacon  Grantham  saw  Joe  next  after  his 
rescue  of  the  train,  his  greeting  was  characteristic. 

"Guess  you  felt  you  owed  the  railroad  company 
for  that  little  accident  last  year?" 

Joe  shook  his  head.  "You'll  have  to  guess 
again/' 

"Bragdall  says  that  horse  was  about  the  best 
horse  he  ever  had  in  his  stable  'n  that  ride  clean 
ruined  h  m.  Guess  the  railroad  company '11  make 
it  up  to  Bragdall  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"You  don't  'pear  to  know  much  about  anything, 
young  man." 

"I  know  enough  to  attend  to  my  own  business," 
snapped  Joe. 

The  Deacon  turned  away  with  a  snarl.  His  eyes 
had  an  evil  glint  in  them;  and  Joe  soon  heard  of 
new  threats  that  he  had  made  against  him. 

78 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

"You  and  the  Deacon  don't  appear  to  be  hitching 
horses  together  much  these  days?"  said  the  Squire 
to  him.  "He  says  this  place  is  too  small  for  the 
two  of  ye,  and  I  'low  he  ain't  thinkin'  of  emigratin* 
himself  and  leavin'  all  them  farms  he's  got.  You 
got  to  watch  him." 

"I  am  watching  him,"  said  Joe. 

Joe  worked  harder  than  ever  that  spring.  He 
wanted  to  "get  off"  for  a  day  or  two  and  go  to  see 
Elizabeth,  and  the  only  way  to  get  a  holiday  was  to 
earn  it. 

One  Saturday  he  had  the  hardest  day  of  his  life. 
Two  consignments  of  flour  had  come  and  he  had 
to  unload  them  alone.  He  nearly  gave  out,  but  not 
quite.  He  unloaded  the  last  ten  barrels  by  sheer 
nerve.  His  back  had  long  since  given  out.  There 
were  one  hundred  barrels  for  Squire  London  and 
ten  for  Deacon  Grantham.  It  was  the  latter  that 
Joe  unloaded  last  and  found  so  heavy.  With  every 
barrel  he  cursed  Deacon  Grantham.  He  sent  no 
tice  of  the  freight's  arrival  to  the  Deacon  that  very 
day,  with  the  grim  hope  that  the  latter  would  come 

79 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

for  his  flour  while  he  was  away  and  would  have  to 
load  it  himself. 

That  Sunday  was  a  pleasant  one  for  Joe.  In  the 
words  of  an  old  hymn  he  had  been  taught  as  a  boy, 
it  was  "like  a  little  Heaven  below."  Elizabeth 
Fostyn  made  it.  She  was,  as  has  been  stated,  teach 
ing  the  superintendent's  children,  and  the  superin 
tendent  was  very  cordial  to  Joe.  He  even  hinted  at 
an  advancement.  But  Elizabeth  gave  Joe  the  ad 
vancement  he  enjoyed  most.  She  really  let  him  wait 
on  her.  He  envied  the  little  smug-faced  Sunday- 
school  scholars  in  the  stiff  pews,  who  had  her  care. 
He  sat  and  adored  her  all  through  church,  and 
walked  home  with  her,  feeling  more  religious  than 
he  had  ever  done  in  his  life,  and  quite  as  if 
he  had  an  angel  under  his  charge:  an  angel 
with  beautiful  feathers  on  a  big  hat  instead  of  on 
her  wings. 

When  Joe  returned  to  his  office  on  the  following 
morning  he  was  not  quite  sure  whether  he  were  still 
on  earth.  The  words  of  the  superintendent  had 
partly  opened  the  door  of  the  future;  but  it  was 
Elizabeth  Fostyn  who  had  flung  it  widcc  He  was, 

80 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

however,  soon  brought  down  to  earth.  He  was 
following  down  the  delivery-line  of  his  freight- 
book. 

"I  see  old  Grantham's  got  his  flour,"  he  said  to 
his  substitute,  who  was  about  to  take  the  morning 
train.  "Hope  he  had  to  load  it  himself?" 

"He  did,"  said  the  other,  "and  he  made  a  big 
row  about  it,  too.  He  came  just  at  train-time,  and 
when  I  got  through  he  had  it  all  loaded.  He  says 
he's  going  to  make  it  hot  for  you  for  getting  off  and 
leaving  the  office." 

Joe  chuckled.  The  day  before  he  had  decided  to 
give  up  swearing. 

For  some  unaccountable  reason  Joe  rose  from  his 
seat  and  went  into  the  freight-house,  where  he 
counted  all  the  barrels  that  remained.  Then  he 
counted  them  again,  and  with  a  puzzled  look  counted 
them  the  third  time,  more  carefully  than  he  had 
done  before.  Then  he  went  back  and  examined  his 
books. 

"I  see  Squire  London's  got  two  of  his  barrels. 
You  didn't  set  it  down." 

His  friend  shook  his  head. 
81 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"No,  that's  all.  Ain't  been  anybody  here  to  get 
flour,  but  just  your  friend." 

"Then  he  has  two  barrels  that  don't  belong  to 
him." 

Joe's  hope  still  was  that  Squire  London  might 
have  sent  and  gotten  two  barrels;  but  at  dinner-time 
this  hope  disappeared.  Squire  London  had  not 
gotten  any  part  of  his  flour.  It  was  plain,  then, 
that  Deacon  Grantham  had  taken  twelve  barrels 
instead  of  ten.  Joe  sat  down  and  wrote  him  a  let 
ter,  asking  if  this  were  not  the  fact.  Then,  on 
further  consideration,  he  determined  to  go  personally 
and  see  him  about  it.  So,  that  afternoon,  having 
gotten  a  friend  to  take  his  place  for  a  few  hours, 
he  walked  down  to  Deacon  Grantham's.  If  he 
should  have  to  pay  for  two  barrels  of  flour  he  could 
not  afford  to  drive,  and,  after  all,  eight  miles  was  no 
such  great  matter  for  a  long-legged  boy  of  twenty- 
two. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  he  reached  the  Deacon's, 
and  as  he  came  to  the  Deacon's  farm  he  thought  he 
had  rarely  witnessed  a  more  pastoral  scene.  The 

82 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

Deacon's  store  was  at  the  corner,  fifty  yards  be 
low  his  house;  but  the  dwelling  stood  back  a 
little  from  the  road,  with  a  well-kept  yard  in 
front,  and  with  outbuildings  strung  off  to  one  side, 
ending  in  a  big,  yellow  barn.  In  the  farmyard 
the  Deacon  was  feeding  his  sheep,  and  as  the 
pink  light  of  the  setting  sun  fell  upon  his  long 
white  beard,  Joe  was  seized  with  a  sudden  shrink 
ing;  he  felt  that  it  would  be  almost  sacrilege 
even  to  suggest  that  the  Deacon  could  have  made 
a  mistake.  His  voice  was  somewhat  quavering 
when  he  spoke. 

The  surprise  of  seeing  him  appeared,  for  a  second, 
to  startle  the  Deacon;  but  as  Joe  modestly  stated 
his  errand  the  Deacon's  blank  face  hardened. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "I  have  not  made 
any  mistake.  I  don't  make  mistakes.  I  only 
got  the  flour  that  I  was  entitled  to.  If  you  had 
stayed  at  home  and  attended  to  your  busi 
ness  you  wouldn't  have  lost  this  flour,  if,  as 
you  say,  it's  disappeared.  Knowing  that  you 
weren't  attending  to  your  business  I  went  myself 
to  bring  my  flour,  and,  what  is  more,  I  had  to 

83 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

load  it  myself;  and  you  haven't  heard  the  last  of 
it,  either." 


Joe  returned  home  in  deep  gloom.  He  had  evi 
dently  made  a  mistake,  and  what  was  more,  he 
would  have  to  pay  for  the  missing  flour,  and  if  old 
Grantham  could  bring  it  about  he  would  lose  his 
place.  The  road  was  twice  as  long  to  him  going 
back  as  it  had  been  when  he  went  down. 

All  that  week  Joe  spent  investigating;  but  there 
was  no  trace  of  the  flour. 

Friday  morning,  however,  an  acquaintance  dropped 
in.  He  had  a  grievance  against  Deacon  Grantham, 
and  he  found  a  sympathetic  listener  in  Joe.  Every 
time  he  cursed  the  Deacon,  Joe  felt  as  if  he  had 
done  him  a  favor. 

"They  say  since  he  robbed  the  widow  Fostyn  of 
her  place  he's  afraid  to  meet  her  in  the  road,  and 
every  time  she  comes  to  town  he  thinks  she's  come 
to  see  Lawyer  Stuart  to  bring  suit  against  him  and 
get  it  back.  Ain't  no  love  lost  between  Lawyer 
Stuart  and  the  Deacon.  I  heard  Lawyer  Stuart  say 
last  week  that  the  Deacon  ought  to  be  indicted  for 

84 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

overloadin'  his  horses.  Says  he  seen  him  with  a 
load  of  flour  on  Saturday  week  couldn't  no  two 
horses  in  the  county  pull  up  Fostyn's  Hill,  and  he 
was  beatin'  'em  unmerciful  and  talkin'  mighty  un- 
becomin'  a  Deacon,  too." 

"Did  you  hear  him  say  how  many  barrels  he  had 
on  his  wagon?"  Joe  asked  casually. 

"No;  didn't  hear  him  say  how  many  he  had;  jist 
heard  him  say  he  had  an  ungodly  load  for  two 
horses  to  pull  up  that  hill." 

When  his  visitor  left,  Joe  sat  for  some  time  ponder 
ing.  That  afternoon  he  struck  out  down  the  road 
which  Deacon  Grantham  always  took.  He  stopped 
at  a  store  on  the  roadside  and  asked  for  a  drink  of 
water.  Casually,  he  inquired,  also,  if  they  wanted  any 
flour,  and  if  any  one  had  been  hauling  flour  by  there 
within  the  last  two  weeks.  No  one  had  but  Deacon 
Grantham.  No  one  had  observed  how  many  bar 
rels  he  had.  Joe  decided  to  push  on.  At  the  first 
house  beyond  Fostyn's  Hill  he  stopped  again  to  ask 
for  water,  and  he  made  the  same  inquiry. 

"I  guess  you  can't  sell  much  flour  this  way,"  said 
the  kindly  woman  who  came  to  the  door.  "  Deacon 

85 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

Grantham  sold  some  below  here  last  week,  I  know, 
'cause  the  Deacon,  I  heard,  sold  it  to  lighten  his 
load.  I  heard  as  how  he  had  a  balky  horse  and  he 
couldn't  get  up  the  hill  with  all  he  had,  so  he  parted 
with  a  lot  of  it  down  to  Jesse  Roache's." 

"Do  you  know  how  much  he  had?"  Joe  asked. 

"Well,  I  didn't  count  it,"  said  the  old  woman; 
"but  my  granddaughter  did.  Mary,  come  here! 
How  many  barrels  of  flour  did  you  say  Deacon 
Grantham  had  on  his  wagon  t'other  day  when  he 
went  by  here  with  such  a  load?" 

"Twelve,"  said  Mary,  with  the  color  coming  to 
her  face,  being  much  more  interested  in  the  young 
man,  with  his  broad  shoulders  and  keen  eyes,  than 
in  any  question  relating  to  flour. 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  said  the  grandmother;  "I  re 
member  now,  I  counted  with  Mary,  'Two,  four, 
six,  eight,  ten,  twelve,'  and  said  as  how  it  was  a 
pretty  big  load  to  come  up  that  hill  with  them 
horses." 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  "he  just  could  make  it,  and 
Tom  Putnam  and  I  had  a  talk  as  to  whether  a  round 
dozen  barrels  of  flour  weren't  too  much  for  one  load. 

86 


THE   NEW  AGENT 

Tom  said  as  how  if  the  Deacon  weren't  too  stingy 
to  feed  his  horses  they  could  pull  a  dozen  barrels 
easy  enough;  but  ten  barrels  was  too  much  for  any 
two  horses  that  the  Deacon  feeds." 

Joe,  with  his  heart  beating,  thanked  his  friends 
and  kept  on  to  Roache's  store.  Here  he  inquired 
guilefully  if  he  wanted  to  buy  any  flour;  but  Mr. 
Roache  replied  that  he  had  all  he  wanted  at  present. 

"What  is  flour  worth?"  he  asked. 

Joe  gave  him  a  price — a  high  one. 

The  storekeeper's  face  brightened  at  the  thought 
that  he  had  made  a  bargain. 

"You  ask  too  high  for  it,  young  man.  Deacon 
Grantham  didn't  ask  that  much  for  it,  and  you  know 
the  Deacon  knows  how  to  charge." 

"Well,  maybe,  his  flour  was  not  as  good  as  mine," 
said  Joe. 

"Yes,  it  is  good  flour,  too;  I  have  got  a  couple  of 
barrels  here  now." 

"Will  you  let  me  see  it?" 

"Walk  in." 

The  storekeeper  led  Joe  back  to  his  store 
room,  and  there  were  the  two  barrels  of  flour, 

87 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

with  the  "Haxall  and  Crenshaw"  brand — the 
very  barrels  which  had  disappeared  from  Joe's 
freight-room. 

"I  hear  he  had  a  mighty  heavy  load  on  that  day," 
said  Joe. 

"Yes,  he  had,"  replied  the  storekeeper;  "that's 
the  only  reason  he  let  me  have  it  at  that  price." 

Joe  found  the  road  back  to  Lebanon  short  enough 
that  evening. 

The  next  afternoon  Joe  hired  a  buggy,  and,  in 
viting  Squire  London  to  go  with  him,  drove  down 
to  the  Deacon's.  When  he  drove  up,  the  Deacon, 
as  before,  was  feeding  his  cattle,  and,  as  before,  the 
rays  of  the  evening  sun  gave  him  a  peculiarly  be 
nignant  appearance. 

Joe,  leaving  Squire  London  in  his  buggy  in  the 
road,  passed  through  the  gate  and  into  the  barn 
yard,  as  he  had  done  the  week  before,  and  in  the 
same  voice,  and  almost  in  the  same  words,  he  ex 
plained  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"I  think  you  must  have  made  a  mistake,  Deacon," 
he  said,  almost  tremblingly.  "Anyway,  my  ship- 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

ment  is  out  two  barrels,  and  I'll  have  to  pay  for 
them  unless  you  have  made  a  mistake." 

The  Deacon  turned  on  him  with  unexpected  sever- 
ity. 

"Young  man,  I  have  told  you  twice  that  I  have 
made  no  mistake;  that  I  only  got  the  flour  that  be 
longed  to  me;  and  it  would  serve  you  right  if  you 
did  have  to  pay  for  them.  And,  young  man,  you 
would  get  off  very  easy  by  only  havin'  to  pay  for 
them.  You  don't  attend  to  your  business,  even  if 
you  know  it.  And  now  I  want  you  to  get  off  my 
place,  and  don't  you  ever  put  your  foot  here  again." 

Joe  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  An  unexpected 
sparkle  shot  into  his  eyes. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  ain't  going  to  get  off  your  place 
until  I  am  ready.  But  I  am  going  pretty  soon."  His 
voice  was  perfectly  calm,  and  his  eyes  were  level 
with  the  Deacon's  eyes.  "I  thought,  maybe,  you 
might  have  taken  the  flour  by  mistake;  but  I  am 
satisfied  now  that  you  stole  it,  and  stole  it  to  injure 
me,  and  I  have  come  here  to  tell  you  that  I  have 
got  full  proof  that  you  did.  I  know  where  you 
sold  it,  what  you  got  for  it,  and  know  where  it  is 

89 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 
at  this  minute.     Now,  you  come  up  and  see  me.    I 
make  my  report  Monday." 

He  wheeled  and  walked  quietly  out  of  the  barn 
yard,  and,  getting  in  his  buggy,  turned  and  drove 
home. 

"He  looks  real  benevolent,  don't  he?"  said 
the  Squire.  "Looks  like  he  was  ready  to  git 
milk  for  new-born  babes.  But  you  got  to  watch 
him." 

"I  have,"  said  Joe. 

That  night  Joe  paid  a  visit  to  Lawyer  Stuart. 

IX 

THE  following  Monday  morning  Joe  was  at  his 
desk,  humming  a  tune,  and  every  now  and  then 
chuckling  to  himself,  when  there  was  a  step  behind 
him.  Turning,  he  faced  Deacon  Grantham.  The 
Deacon  was  dressed  in  his  Sunday  clothes. 

"Well,"  said  Joe,  "you  have  come.     Sit  down." 
The  Deacon  drew  up  a  chair.     His  face  was  pale, 
and  his  eyes  showed  that  he  was  much  disturbed. 
When  he  spoke  he  had  the  confidential  tone  which 
Squire  London  had  mentioned  to  Joe. 

90 


THE    NEW   AGENT 

"Yes,  I  have  come  to  see  you  to  explain  things.  I 
did  make  a  mistake." 

"Yes?"  said  Joe.     "Well?" 

"You  haven't  made  your  report  yet?" 

"I  haven't  sent  in  my  report  yet,"  said  Joe;  "it 
goes  to-night." 

"Well,  that  is  all  right,"  said  the  Deacon;  "I 
want  to  pay  you  for  the  flour." 

He  glanced  around  over  his  shoulder  to  see  that 
no  one  was  within  ear-shot;  then  slowly  put  his  hand 
into  his  pocket. 

"I  got  six  dollars  a  barrel  for  it,  and,  of 
course,  if  I  pay  for  it  you  won't  say  anything 
about  it  to  anybody,  and  I  will  make  it  up  to 
you  ?  Suppose  we  call  it  fourteen  dollars  for  the 
two?" 

Joe  waited  until  he  had  gotten  his  money  out,  and 
then  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Well,  say  fifteen  ?"  said  the  Deacon,  and  putting 
his  hand  into  another  pocket  he  drew  out  another 
dollar,  which,  evidently,  had  been  placed  there  to 
meet  this  contingency. 

"No,"  said  Joe,  "I  think  not." 
91 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

He  turned  around  to  his  desk  and,  taking  up  a 
pen,  began  to  write. 

The  Deacon  was  a  spectacle.  For  a  moment  he 
appeared  to  be  lost  in  doubt  and  indecision.  Then 
he  drew  nearer. 

"Well,  what  will  you  settle  it  for?"  he  asked. 

Joe  reflected  a  moment,  and  then,  rising  slowly, 
turned  and  faced  him. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  settle  it  at  all,  but 
I  will  settle  it  for  one  thing." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  For  a  full  deed  of  conveyance  to  Mrs.  Fostyn  of 
the  place  you  robbed  her  of,  upon  the  payment  to 
you  of  the  exact  amount  you  paid  for  it,  without  one 
cent  of  interest;  the  interest  being  offset  by  what 
ever  you  may  have  gotten  from  it,  whether  it  be 
much  or  little;  that  deed  to  be  executed  and  deliv 
ered  to  me  to-day."  He  had  the  words  by  heart. 

The  Deacon  flung  up  his  hands  and  burst  out 
laughing.  He  was  sincerely  amused. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  good  one !     You  think  I  am ! " 

But  Joe  had  turned  and  reseated  himself,  and 
begun  to  write  quietly. 

92 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

"A  deed  for  the  best  place  within  ten  miles  of 
Lebanon  for  two  barrels  of  flour!  Well,  I  like  your 
brass!  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?"  The  Deacon's 
laugh  had  an  unwonted  merriment. 

Joe  wrote  on. 

"You  think  yourself  pretty  smart,  young  man, 
don't  you?" 

Joe's  pen  went  on  quietly. 

"I  have  brought  you  the  amount  I  got  for  those 
barrels  I  took  by  mistake,  just  as  you  said  yourself, 
and  that  is  all  you  will  get,  young  man." 

Joe  began  to  fold  a  suspicious,  formal-looking 
paper,  and  the  Deacon's  eyes  fell  on  it. 

"What  is  that  you've  got  there  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"My  report,"  said  Joe  quietly,  "charging  you  with 
stealing  two  barrels  of  flour."  He  was  addressing 
the  envelope. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Mail  it." 

The  Deacon's  countenance  fell,  and  he  drew  a 
step  nearer. 

"Wait  a  minute.  Now,  you  be  reasonable,"  he 
said.  "You  know  everybody  is  liable  to  make  mis- 

93 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

takes.  I  am  sorry  I  did  it,  and  I  came  here  to  make 
a  liberal  settlement  with  you." 

For  answer  Joe  began  to  put  the  paper  in  the 
envelope. 

"We'll  call  it  five  dollars  for  you,  and  you  not  to 
say  anything  more  about  it?"  added  the  Deacon. 
He  took  out  a  fat  pocket-book. 

Joe  lighted  a  candle,  and  taking  a  piece  of  sealing- 
wax  began  to  heat  it  in  the  flame. 

' *  Young  man ,  you  don 't  want  to  in  j ure  me  ? ' '  The 
Deacon's  voice  had  a  new  tone  in  it. 

Joe  sealed  the  letter  with  slow  deliberation,  and, 
rising,  reached  for  his  hat. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  demanded  the  Deacon 
falteringly. 

"To  get  this  letter  off,"  said  Joe. 

His  eyes  met  the  Deacon's,  and  the  latter  saw  in 
them  that  which  froze  his  blood  and  turned  the 
marrow  in  his  bones  to  water. 

"Wait,"  he  said. 

"Not  a  minute;   I  am  done." 

"What  is  it  you  want?     Make  it  ten  dollars?" 

Joe  moved  toward  the  door.  The  Deacon  seized  him. 
94 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

"Call  it  twenty-five  dollars;  I  have  got  it  here  in 
my  pocket."  He  opened  his  pocketbook  with  sur 
prising  swiftness. 

"Go,"  said  Joe  sternly,  motioning  him  toward  the 
door;  "I  want  to  lock  up  this  office." 

"Wait  a  minute — give  me  that  report." 

Joe  still  pointed  toward  the  door. 

"Go  on!"     Relentlessness  spoke  in  his  eyes. 

The  Deacon  burst  into  tears. 

"Young  man,  you  are  robbing  me  and  my  chil 
dren.  You  don't  want  to  rob  my  poor  wife  and  son." 

Joe  turned  and  faced  him. 

"  You  know  who  is  the  robber."  Something  with 
held  Joe  from  saying  more,  but  the  scorn  in  his  face 
said  it  all. 

At  the  end  of  five  minutes  of  expostulation  and 
entreaties  the  Deacon  brokenly  asked: 

"Who  will  pay  for  the  deed?" 

"It  is  written  and  paid  for,"  said  Joe.  "Come 
along." 

"I  will  sign  it,"  sobbed  the  Deacon. 

A  half-hour  later  Deacon  Grantham  signed  the 
95 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

deed  to  the  old  Fostyn  place,  and  the  lawyer,  with 
appreciation  in  every  line  of  his  face,  handed  it  to 
Joe,  who  drew  from  his  pocket  and  paid  over  to  the 
Deacon  the  full  amount  that  was  due  him  on  a  close 
calculation. 

As  the  Deacon  left  the  office  he  turned  to  Joe: 

"You  swear  you'll  never  say  a  word  about  that 
flour?" 

Once  more  Joe's  glance  withered  him.  He  flung 
the  deed  on  the  table  between  them. 

"If  I  ever  hear  of  your  saying  a  word  against  the 
widow  Fostyn,  or  any  one  named  Fostyn,  I  tell." 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  say  a  word  against  her  as  long  as 
I  live,"  said  the  Deacon. 

Joe  slowly  took  up  the  deed  again. 

The  man  that  drove  home  that  afternoon  in  the 
Deacon's  wagon  was  ten  years  older  than  the  man 
that  had  driven  up  to  town  in  the  morning. 

That  night  Joe  wrote  a  letter  to  Elizabeth.  The 
deed  went  with  it. 

"And  now  I  am  going  to  the  West,"  he  said  in 
closing. 

The  following  afternoon  he  was  sitting  at  his  desk 
96 


THE   NEW   AGENT 

when  he  heard  the  door  open  softly  and  then  softly 
close  behind  him.  Turning,  he  faced  Elizabeth. 
And  the  heavens  opened. 

"Oh,  Joe!"     She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Joe  never  knew  how  it  happened. 

In  a  second  he  was  at  her  side  and  his  arms  were 
around  her.  The  windows  were  wide  open,  but 
Joe  forgot  it. 

An  hour  later  they  were  standing  together  under 
the  trees  in  the  old  Fostyn  yard,  when  a  wagon 
passed  along  the  highway  below  them.  As  Deacon 
Grantham  looked  that  way  the  setting  sun,  slanting 
across  the  grass,  bathed  them  in  its  soft  light.  The 
Deacon  almost  reeled  on  his  seat.  Thirty  years 
rolled  back  and  for  a  moment  he  thought  it  was 
John  Fostyn  and  his  young  wife  as  he  had  seen 
them  there.  As  he  drove  on  his  face  was  as  white 
as  the  flour  that  had  lost  him  the  place.  But  Joe 
and  Elizabeth  saw  only  each  other's  eyes. 


97 


A  BROTHER  TO  DIOGENES 


A  BROTHER  TO  DIOGENES 

A.FTER  a  hard  autumn's  work,  in  which  the 
strife  had  been  more  severe  than  I  ever  remembered 
it  before,  I  found  myself,  as  my  doctor  expressed  it, 
"Not  sick,  but  somewhat  out  of  health."  It  had 
come  to  a  pass  when  the  ups  and  downs  of  the 
market  meant  a  great  deal  to  me.  I  wanted  to  be 
rich,  and  riches  always  meant  more  and  more. 
Following  the  advice  of  my  friends  and  clients,  I 
had  begun  to  take  little  " flyers,"  acting,  of  course, 
always  on  "sure  things."  I  read  three  papers  at 
the  breakfast  table,  studied  the  financial  pages  of 
another,  and  bolted  in  to  look  at  the  ticker  in  the 
office  of  the  first  hotel  on  my  way  downtown.  I 
had  been  quite  successful,  and  the  more  money  I 
made,  the  poorer  I  appeared  to  myself.  I  was  not 
quite  envious,  but  I  could  not  bear  to  have  others 
richer  than  I,  and  others  were  so  rich. 

It  was  just  then  that  I  began  to  push  cabs  and 
cars  along  and  to  feel  a  little  sensation  in  my  fore- 
101 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

head  which,  after  an  unexpected  flurry  in  the  street 
that  ran  my  holdings  up  and  down  for  the  space  of 
a  week  or  two  and  left  them  decidedly  down,  be 
came  a  sort  of  band-like  feeling.  When  things  had 
settled,  several  of  my  clients  had  gone  to  the  wall 
and  one  of  my  friends,  whom  I  saw  every  day  at 
lunch,  had  gone  to  bed  and  forgot  to  turn  off  the 
gas.  For  a  month  or  more  I  tried  to  bully  myself 
into  the  idea  that  nothing  was  the  matter;  but  after 
many  nights  in  which  I  seemed  hardly  to  lose  con 
sciousness,  I  consulted  my  friend,  Dr.  John.  He 
looked  at  me  in  the  quizzical  way  he  had. 

"You  say  you  are  rich?" 

"No,  not  rich;   but  moderately  well  off." 

"Well  off!"  he  repeated  with  his  half-cynical 
smile.  "I  call  you  pretty  badly  off.  You  won't 
live  long — unless,"  he  added,  after  a  pause  which 
seemed  interminable,  "you  knock  off  right  now  and 
go  away." 

"How  long  do  you  give  me?" 

"How  much  did  you  say  you  slept  last  night?" 

"I  didn't  sleep  at  all." 

"You  slept  the  night  before?" 
102 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

"Yes,  some." 

"All  right;  you  will  leave  here  the  day  after  to 
morrow  and  go  either  to  the  Riviera  or  to  the  South 
west.  I  give  you  your  choice.  And  you  will  give 
me  your  word  that  you  will  not  leave  your  address 
with  anybody  but  me,  or  write  a  business  letter  and 
will  not  come  back  without  my  consent." 

"And  if  I  don't?" 

"Then  you  will  go  to  pieces."  He  tapped  his 
forehead. 

Two  days  after  that  I  took  the  train  for  the  South 
west,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day,  after  a 
dusty  climb  over  the  Divide  and  a  run  through  the 
Mohave  Desert,  with  its  scrub  and  sand,  we  sud 
denly  came  out  into  the  land  of  flowers  and  green 
trees,  lemon  groves  and  crystal  air. 

That  afternoon  I  spent  knocking  about  in  the 
quaint  old  town  on  Santa  Barbara  Bay,  which  still 
held  some  of  its  Spanish  quaintness  and  charm, 
though  the  modern  tourist  and  the  modern  caterer 
to  the  tourist  were  rapidly  sweeping  it  away.  It  was 
the  first  time  in  several  years  that  I  had  ever  been 
conscious  of  any  other  pleasure  in  the  outside  world 
103 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

than  that  of  mere  physical  comfort.  But  the  quie 
tude  began  to  act  like  a  balm. 

I  had  discovered,  however,  that  I  was  really  "out 
of  health,"  and  the  talk  of  "stocks  and  bonds"  and 
"money"  and  "markets,"  which  I  could  not  escape 
even  at  my  meals  began  to  be  an  exasperation.  I 
wanted  to  get  well.  To  escape  these  inflictions  I 
began  to  ride  about  the  country. 

It  was  upon  one  of  these  rides  that  I  came  upon 
the  "Brother  to  Diogenes." 

I  was  walking  my  horse  slowly  along  a  trail  across 
one  of  the  foot-hills  of  the  Santa  Ynez  range,  which 
towers  like  a  rampart  of  light  between  the  sea  and 
the  desert,  when  turning  an  abrupt  corner  I  came 
upon  the  "Brother  to  Diogenes." 

An  old  man,  sun-tanned,  travel-stained,  and 
weather-beaten,  with  a  shaggy  beard,  who  at  first 
glance  looked  almost  like  a  tramp,  was  seated  on 
a  grassy  bank,  his  back  propped  up  against  a 
boulder,  basking  in  the  sun  which  streamed  down 
on  him,  while  a  few  yards  below  him,  contentedly 
grazing  on  the  fresh  green  sward,  was  a  small 
and  evidently  very  old,  sunburned  "pinto"  horse. 
104 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

His  pack  was  undone  and  lying,  half  opened  up, 
on  the  ground. 

I  possibly  might  have  passed  on  with  a  casual 
salutation  had  I  not  observed  that  in  the  old 
man's  lap  rested  a  small  worn  leather-bound 
volume,  which  he  had  evidently  laid  down  when 
he  filled  the  pipe  which  he  was  now  contentedly 
smoking. 

"Good-afternoon,"  I  said. 

"Good-evening,  sir,"  he  said  in  reply. 

The  pleasant  voice  and  the  old-fashioned  use  of 
the  word  "evening"  made  me  look  at  him  more 
closely,  and  I  noted  that  his  features  were  unusually 
good,  his  eyes  clear  and  keen,  his  face  expressive  of 
benignity,  and  that,  while  his  outer  clothes  were 
shabby  and  worn,  his  linen,  though  plain  and  coarse, 
curiously  enough,  was  unusually  clean. 

"You  have  selected  a  good  point,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  sir;  it  is  one  of  my  coignes  of  vantage  of 
which  I  am  particularly  fond.  I  often  come  with 
an  old  friend  to  enjoy  it."  Here  he  laid  his  hand  on 
his  book  as  one  touches  a  friend's  arm.  "I  think  it 
must  have  been  from  just  such  a  point  that  'stout 
105 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

Cortez '  gazed  on  the  Pacific,  '  silent  upon  a  peak  in 
Darien'!" 

With  his  pipe  in  his  hand  he  made  a  gesture 
toward  the  south,  where  the  green  hills  lay  in  fold 
above  fold,  as  though  Spring  had  cast  her  robe 
about  her  and  left  it  to  lie  along  the  ocean's  marge 
in  countless  undulations. 

"May  I  enjoy  it  with  you  a  few  moments?"  I 
found  myself  recognizing  his  claim  to  it. 

"Certainly,  sir.  Take  a  seat  and  make  yourself 
at  home.  'The  world  is  wide  enough  for  thee  and 
me.'" 

By  this  time  I  had  dismounted. 

"From  town,  son?"  he  demanded  indifferently, 
with  a  slow  turn  of  his  eyes  from  my  direction  to 
where,  far  below  us,  the  brown  houses  and  reddish 
roofs  of  Santa  Barbara  lay  speckled  among  the  green 
palms  and  pepper-trees  of  the  quiet  valley,  with  the 
old  mission  at  the  head  of  the  valley,  a  mere  dab 
looking  over  the  town  to  the  blue  bay  with  the  bluer 
islands  ranged  along  on  the  other  side.  I  nodded. 

"Like  it?"  He  was  a  man  of  few  words  until 
interested. 

106 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

I  replied  at  some  length,  "I  liked  it  very  much." 
It  was  so  "different  from  the  East,"  where  I  had 
come  from:  "so  much  quieter;  the  life  so  much 
more  natural,"  etc.  He  appeared  to  lose  interest  as 
I  went  on,  so  presently  I  paused. 

"Why  did  you  come  so  far?"  This  was  after 
quite  a  wait. 

"Well,  I  was  a  little  out  of  health;  worked  too 
hard."  I  thought  he  referred  to  my  coming  West, 
but  he  did  not.  He  gave  a  grunt. 

"I  know.  I  mean  why'd  you  come  so  far  from 
town?  Fond  of  country?" 

"Wel-1,  I  don't  know —    Ye-es,  I  suppose  so." 

"Humph!"  He  sucked  quietly  at  his  pipe.  And 
after  a  listless  minute  he  picked  up  his  book  and 
began  slowly  to  read.  It  was  plain  that  I  had  fallen 
in  his  good  graces. 

I  meant  to  recover  my  lost  place,  if  possible. 

"I  expect  I  am  fonder  than  I  know,"  I  began. 
"I  have  lived  in  town  so  much  that  I  had  almost 
forgotten  what  the  country  was  like."  He  laid  his 
book  down  very  slowly,  and  presently,  without  con 
descending  to  look  at  me,  said: 
107 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

"Why'd  you  do  that?" 

"I  was  working." 

"Humph!  Got  a  family!"  This  was  not  a 
question. 

"No.  Nobody  but  myself.  But  I  wanted  to 
succeed." 

"Why?"     This  was  after  a  perceptible  pause. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Because  I  was  a  fool,  I 
suppose." 

"You  were."  This  was  his  first  positive  asser 
tion.  "Well,  did  you?"  he  vouchsafed  to  inquire 
after  a  pause. 

"Why,  yes;  measurably.  I  made  a  good  deal  of 
money." 

"You  call  that  success?"  His  eyes  were  resting 
on  my  face. 

"Yes.  Don't  you?"  He  did  not  vouchsafe  to 
reply  to  this.  He  only  pulled  at  his  pipe. 

"  What'd  you  do  with  it  ?"  He  was  getting  inter 
ested. 

"Oh!  Invested  it — put  it  in  bank  and  in  stocks 
— gilt-edged  securities." 

"What  for?" 

108 


A    BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

"To  keep."  I  was  not  used  to  this  Socratic 
method. 

His  weather-beaten  face  relaxed  and  his  blue  eyes 
twinkled. 

"That's  right  funny,"  he  drawled.  "A  man 
works  himself  to  death  to  get  money  to  lock  up  and 
keep  in  a  bank." 

"Not  at  all,"  I  fired  up.  "I  want  power;  the 
respect  of — of  people."  I  had  started  to  say  "of 
friends,"  but  I  was  glad  I  did  not,  for  he  said  quietly: 

"Must  be  poor  kind  of  people  respect  you  for 
your  money.  What'd  you  think  if  I  were  to  tell  you 
I  had  more  money  than  any  man  in  the  country?" 

I  knew  well  what  I  would  think,  but  I  did  not 
wish  to  appear  rude.  I  had  become  interested  in 
the  old  fellow  lounging  there  in  his  rags,  so  I  simply 
said: 

"Have  you?  Tell  me  about  it.  Where  is  it?  I 
suppose  it  is  a  mine  ?  I  see  you  are  a  prospector." 

He  nodded  without  removing  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth.  Then,  after  a  few  puffs,  he  took  it  out. 

"Yes,  it's  one  of  the  richest,  I  think  the  richest  I 
ever  saw." 

109 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"Well,  where  is  it  ?"     I  determined  to  humor  him. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  shrewd  glint  in  his  deep- 
blue  eyes. 

"It  is  where  you  are  not  likely  to  find  it  unless — 
Do  you  know  the  shores  of  Bohemia?" 

"No,  I  do  not.  It's  been  some  time  since  I 
studied  geography." 

"I  thought  so.  Well,  I'll  only  tell  you  that  I've 
got  it."  He  chuckled  in  a  half -childish  way  which 
satisfied  me  that  my  first  conjecture  was  right,  and 
that  he  was  a  little  mad. 

"Well,  tell  me  about  it,"  I  said.  "How  did  you 
come  to  get  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  doing  that,  son.  I  just  stum 
bled  on  it — just  stumbled  on  it,  you  may  say,  after 
hunting  my  heart  out  like  many  another  fool."  He 
was  talking  to  himself  rather  than  to  me. 

To  break  the  reverie  into  which  he  had  drifted  I 
asked : 

"May  I  inquire  where  you  came  from?" 

He  turned  his  eyes  on  me  with  a  little  twinkle  in 
them. 

"Well,  I've  seen  the  time  and  place  when  a  ques- 
110 


A    BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

tion  like  that  wasn't  considered  altogether  polite. 
Th'  wasn't  but  one  man  given  to  asking  that  par 
ticular  question:  the  marshal,  and  he  had  to  have 
his  gun  handy." 

"I  did  not  mean  any  offence." 

"Oh,  no.  It  happens  that  I  know  no  reason  why 
I  should  not  tell  you.  I  am  from  the  East.  You 
know  the  wise  men  came  from  the  East." 

"A  long  time  ago.  And  your  na ?"  I  checked 

myself  just  in  time. 

"That  question,  too,  I've  seen  make  a  man  carrion. 
But  I  don't  mind  telling  you.  I  am  a  brother  to 
Diogenes." 

"And  you  have  been  rich?"  I  began  to  see  how 
it  was. 

"I  am  rich,"  he  replied  gravely.  "Richer  than 
Croesus,  richer  than  Solomon  ever  was,  and  he 
'made  silver  to  be  in  Jerusalem  as  stones.' 

"When  the  war  closed  I  found  myself  flat  down 
on  the  ground,  for  everything  was  gone  except  the 
ground;  even  the  fences  had  disappeared,  and  I've 
often  wondered  since  I  came  West  what  would  have 
happened  to  us  poor  fellows  if  we  had  found  wire 
111 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

fences  when  we  camped  at  night,  instead  of  those 
good  dry  rails  that  we  used  to  burn  against  orders. 
I  had  just  enough  to  get  away  and  take  my  younger 
brother  with  me.  We  went  to  New  York,  where  I 
knew  some  people,  and  he  secured  a  position  in  a 
railway  office,  while  I  found  a  place  in  an  office — a 
mining  bureau  they  called  it.  We  were  ambitious 
to  succeed — at  least,  he  was.  I  had  rather  got  mine 
knocked  out  of  me.  A  year  at  Point  Lookout  and 
those  five  years  down  there  trying  to  keep  the  old 
place  from  going  into  Jim  Crew's  pocket  had  a 
little  dulled  my  energy,  and  I  was  fond  of  books. 
But  Ken  was  ambitious.  He  meant  to  succeed. 
And  work!  You  never  saw  a  boy  work  so.  Why, 
it  was  day  and  night  with  him.  He  worked  himself 
to  the  bone.  He  was  thinner  than  I  was  when  I 
came  out  of  Point  Lookout,  and  I  was  thin! 
Week-days  and  Sundays  he  was  at  it — late  at 
night  I'd  sit  up  and  wait  for  him  sometimes, 
and  sometimes  I'd  just  turn  the  lamp  down  and 
go  to  sleep,  it  was  so  late.  And  sometimes  when 
he  came  in  he  was  so  tired  he  couldn't  sleep.  I 
tried  to  get  him  to  let  up;  but  he  said  he 
112 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

couldn't.  The  work  was  there,  and  he  had  to  do 
it  or  fall  out. 

"One  morning — it  was  Sunday,  a  bright  spring 
morning — I  was  going  into  the  country  to  see  the 
peach  blossoms  and  wanted  him  to  come  along,  but 
he  said  he  couldn't;  he  was  due  back  at  the  office. 
As  he  was  dressing  I  saw  him  stagger.  He  sort  of 
sank  down  on  the  bed,  and  I  saw  his  lips  were  red. 
I  had  seen  men  bleed  from  the  mouth  when  a  bullet 
went  through  'em. 

"'Let  'em  know  at  the  office  I  couldn't  come,'  he 
said,  'and  I'll  be  down  to-morrow.' 

"The  doctor  I  got  just  took  up  his  hand  and  then 
laid  it  down  again  and  looked  at  me.  He  had  been 
an  old  soldier  too.  I  had  told  him  what  he  had 
been  doing. 

"He  knew  what  I  asked  him,  though  I  didn't  say 
a  word,  and  he  just  shook  his  head. 

"'What  brought  it  on?'"  I  asked. 

"'Worked  to  death— that's  what  they  do.  I've 
seen  many  of  them.' 

"Ken  rallied,  and  I  thought  he  was  going  to  pull 
through;  but  that  night  it  came  on  again,  and  before 
113 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

I  could  get  the  doctor  he  was  gone.     I  did  not  grieve 
for  him  at  first  much,  I  was  so  glad  he  could  rest. 

"'Who's  the  head-man  down  there?'  I  asked  the 
doctor,  '  and  where  does  he  live  ? ' 

"Well,  I  don't  know  who  is  the  superintendent; 
but  the  real  head-man,  of  course,  is  the  president. 
He  owns  the  road.  He  is  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
New  York  He  lives  in  that  big  house  up  on  the 
Avenue.  I  saw  him  this  morning  going  to  church.' 

"I  suddenly  felt  myself  go  cold  and  then  hot. 

:"Does  he  go  to  his  office  every  day?' 

"Guess  he  does,  except  when  he's  off  on  his 
yacht,  or  in  Europe,  or  at  Long  Branch.' 

"'Thank  you,  doctor.  That's  all,'  I  said.  'You 
did  all  you  could  or  anybody  could.' 

"Next  day  a  letter  came  for  Ken  from  the  office, 
mailed  the  evening  before.  It  was  a  formal  notice 
to  call  and  get  ten  dollars  due  to  him.  He  was  dis 
charged  for  not  coming  down  the  day  before.  I 
took  the  letter,  and  locking  the  door  with  Ken  lying 
there,  went  down  to  the  railroad  office.  It  was  one 
of  those  big  buildings,  full  of  floors,  and  all  the  floors 
full  of  pens  where  men  sweat  over  long  tables,  with 
114 


A    BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

the  head   men   in   corner  rooms,   wainscoted   with 
mahogany,  and  with  big  desks  and  great  arm-chairs. 

"I  went  right  in  and  up  to  the  president's  door 
through  the  whole  line  of  offices  and  pens  and  desks 
where  the  men  were  shut  in  like  prisoners.  Two  or 
three  of  them  tried  to  stop  me,  but  I  passed  right  by 
them,  and  when  they  saw  me  keep  straight  they 
thought  I  had  an  appointment.  I  walked  right  in. 
The  president  was  seated  at  his  desk,  with  his 
stenographer  at  his  desk.  He  was  a  big  stout  man 
with  keen  eyes,  flabby  cheeks,  and  a  hard  mouth. 
He  had  built  himself  a  palace  on  the  Avenue  with 
out  a  tree  or  a  flower  or  even  a  spear  of  grass  about 
it — just  stone.  The  stenographer  was  a  thin  young 
fellow  with  a  sallow  face  and  thin,  bloodless  lips  and 
restless  eyes  like  a  grub-staker  used  to  watching  for 
signs.  They  both  looked  surprised  and  the  presi 
dent  was  really  astonished.  He  was  too  much  as 
tonished  even  to  ask  what  I  wanted;  but  it  didn't 
take  long  to  tell  him. 

"You  are  the  president  of  this  railroad  com 
pany?' 

"'I  am.' 

115 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"'I  have  a  letter  here.'  I  opened  the  letter  to 
Ken  and  laid  it  on  the  desk  before  him.  He  glanced 
at  it. 

"'Well?' 

"'I  am  his  brother.' 

"'Well?' 

"'He's  dead!' 

"Well,  I'm  very  sorry;  but  I  don't  see  what  I 
have  to  do  with  it.' 

"I  suddenly  grew  hot  and  cold  again. 

-  you!  Don't  you  say  that  to  me.  You 
killed  him,  and  if  you  say  that  to  me  I'll  kill  you 
right  where  you  sit.' 

"He  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  his  face  was 
whiter  than  the  stenographer's. 

" '  Don't  get  excited,'  he  said,  and  reached  his  hand 
out  to  touch  a  bell,  but  I  cut  him  short. 

"'Don't  touch  that  bell.  If  I  am  excited,  my 
brother  is  quiet  enough.  I  left  him  on  the  bed 
where  he  died  and  you  write  to  him  that  he  is  turned 
off  because  he  didn't  come  Sunday  when  he  was 
dying.  You  went  to  church  that  day,  I  reckon,  and 
when  the  preacher  said,  "Remember  the  Sabbath 
116 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

day  to  keep  it  holy, "  prayed  God  to  write  it  in  your 
heart.' 

"'My  dear  sir/  he  began,  but  I  stopped  him. 

"' Don't  you  "dear  sir"  me  either.  You  are 
nearer  to  death  this  minute  than  you  ever  were  in 
your  life.  Here  is  your  acquittance  in  full.'  I  laid 
his  receipt  on  his  desk.  I  had  written  it  in  full  and 
made  it  out,  'For  murdering  Ken.' 

"Well,  I  kept  on  working  for  a  while;  but  I 
didn't  have  much  heart  left  for  it.  I  found  that  it 
was  grind  or  rob.  Half  of  them  were  robbing,  or 
trying  to  rob  the  other  half,  and  those  who  suc 
ceeded  were  called  the  successful  ones  and  the  rest 
just  ground  themselves  away  like  an  old  pick. 

"Even  those  who  were  called  successful  did  not 
get  any  real  good  out  of  it.  They  got  no  enjoyment 
out  of  it  except  that  which  the  miser  has  of  hoarding 
up  gold.  The  more  they  had,  the  more  they  wanted. 
Joy,  health,  peace  of  mind,  happiness,  all  went 
through  the  sluice.  And  if  they  got  more  money 
they  didn't  know  how  to  spend  it.  They  built  big 
houses  and  stored  their  barns  or  their  bank  boxes 
full  and  called  on  their  souls  to  enjoy  it,  and  about 
117 


UNDER    THE    CRUST 

then  God  required  their  so-called  souls  of  them. 
About  the  time  it  came  they  had  to  go  hunting  for 
health.  That  railroad  president  dropped  dead  in 
his  office  one  day,  quarrelling  with  another  railroad 
president  over  an  extra  million  or  so. 

"I  had  studied  geology  and  metallurgy,  and  had 
gradually  become  the  one  the  firm  relied  on  to  ex 
amine  and  pass  upon  the  mines  that  were  offered 
them.  So  they  got  in  the  way  of  sending  me  out 
West  to  look  at  the  mines.  I  was  glad  to  go,  for  I 
had  a  holiday  from  the  office  and  liked  the  free 
West.  I  used  to  find  men  there — rough,  tough  men, 
often  full  of  lice  and  all  uncleanness,  but  still  men. 
But  though  I  toiled  for  'em  and  made  'em  money, 
they  did  not  offer  to  raise  my  salary. 

"I  told  them  one  day  that  I  wanted  a  holiday. 

"'Well,'  said  the  senior  member,  'we  can't  spare 
you  just  now.  We've  got  the  biggest  thing  on  we've 
ever  had  and  we  need  you  to  go  and  inspect  it.'  He 
always  talked  as  if  he  were  saying,  'Let  there  be 
light,'  and  there  had  to  be  light. 

"'That's  a  pity,'  I  said,  'for  I'm  going  to  take  a 
holiday.' 

118 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

"I  guess  you  can't  take  a  holiday  without  I  say 
so/  he  said,  frowning  at  me. 

"'I  guess  I  can,  and  to  show  you,  I'll  start  right 
now.'  I  put  on  my  hat.  'Good-day.' 

:"I'll  discharge  you,'  he  said,  very  red.  I  turned 
and  laughed  at  him. 

"'Oh!    You  can't  do  that.' 

"'Why?' 

"'Because  I've  already  discharged  you.  I'll 
never  work  another  minute  for  you  as  long  as  you 
live.' 

"When  he  saw  I  was  going  he  tried  to  make  up. 
He  called  me  back — asked  me  to  wait,  and  began  to 
smear  me  with  a  lot  of  soft  soap.  He  would  double 
my  salary,  and  all  that.  But  I  knew  him  and  knew 
what  it  was  worth,  and  told  him,  'No.'  That  he 
knew  I  was  worth  more  before,  and  was  worth  more 
than  double  my  salary,  and  that  if  he  had  not  in 
creased  it  before,  I  did  not  want  it  now. 

"Well,  he  almost  begged  me  to  stay,  but  I  would 
not. 

"So  I  came  West. 

"At  first  I  thought  I  could  set  up  as  an  expert 
119 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

and  assayer;  but  I  fell  into  the  way  of  going  out  and 
prospecting  and  liked  it;  so  I  held  on  to  it.  It  took 
me  out  into  the  country — the  desert  or  the  moun 
tains,  and  it  brought  back  the  times  when  I  used  to 
follow  old  Jack  and  sleep  out  under  the  stars.  I 
had  'most  forgotten  what  they  looked  like.  You 
know  you  never  see  them  in  New  York,  or  the  moon 
either." 

He  suddenly  lifted  a  warning  finger. 

"Sh-h-h!" 

I  saw  he  was  listening  to  something  with  pleasure, 
for  a  pleasant  light  had  come  over  his  tanned  face. 
I  strained  my  ears  in  vain  to  catch  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  feet  or  the  far-off  noise  of  a  train,  the  smoke 
of  which  I  could  see  between  the  hills  two  or  three 
miles  away.  Suddenly  I  saw  him  peering  eagerly 
into  a  chaparral  thicket  just  below  us,  and  became 
aware  that  a  mocking-bird  was  singing  lustily  in  his 
dusky  retreat. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  to  beat  that  ?    That's 

what  I've  been  waiting  for.     There  are  only  a  few 

of  them  up  here,  and  they,  like  myself,  prefer  the 

quiet  places  to  the  noisy  lowland  down  there.    They 

120 


A   BROTHER   TO   DIOGENES 

carry  me  back "  He  drifted  off  into  a  sort  of 

a  reverie. 

"Have  you  ever  been  to  Italy?"  he  inquired 
presently. 

"Yes,  once."  I  had  galloped  through  once,  giv 
ing  one  day  to  Venice,  one  to  Florence,  two  to  Rome, 
and  one  to  Naples  and  Pompeii.  I  was  in  rather  a 
hurry. 

"Did  you  hear  the  nightingale?  I  have  always 
thought  that  I  would  go  down  to  Mexico  some  time 
to  see  if  I  could  not  find  one  of  those  Maximilian 
brought  there." 

"No,  I  never  did.     I  was  there  only  a  short  time." 

"I'd  like  to  hear  the  self -same  song  'that  found 
a  path  through  the  sad  heart  of  Ruth  when,  sick  for 
home,  she  stood  in  tears  amid  the  alien  corn.'" 

I  brought  him  back  with  a  question  as  to  how  he 
had  got  on  in  the  West. 

"Better  than  in  the  East,"  he  said.  "I  kept  on 
until  I  had  tried  pretty  much  every  gold  and  silver 
field  that  opened  up  in  the  West.  But  somehow  the 
more  I  saw  of  that  sort  of  thing  the  less  I  liked  it, 
the  more  I  saw  it  was  akin  to  what  I  had  left  in  the 
121 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

East  and  hoped  I  had  shaken  forever.  Men  tramp 
ling  each  other  down,  cutting  each  other's  throats, 
for  a  bit  of  mountain-side  or  desert  that  would  not 
yield  as  much  as  would  plug  a  good-sized  hole  in  a 
tooth.  They  were  so  busy  scuffling  to  get  gold  that 
they  did  not  have  time  to  nurse  the  sick  or  bury  the 
dead.  I  was  in  with  'em,  too,  broiling  in  the  sun 
and  freezing  in  the  cold.  All  day  in  the  gulch,  and 
all  night  in  the  gambling-hell.  Till  one  day  it  came 
to  me  just  like  a  flash  of  lightning  what  fools  they 
were  and  what  a  blind  fool  I  was  to  bunk  with  such 
a  lousy  bunch  of  locoed  jackasses.  I  had  got  to 
gether  quite  a  good  stake  and  was  about  to  come  out 
with  it  when  a  couple  of  scoundrels  stole  it  from  me. 
They  said  they  came  from  Kansas,  but  I  think  they 
came  from  New  York.  Well,  they  sickened  me,  and 
I  cut  the  business — sold  out  to  the  first  man  that 
made  me  an  offer  and  struck  out  for  myself.  It 
was  then  that  I  got  old  Pinto,  there.  He  was  young 
then  and  tolerably  mean,  and  the  man's  had  him 
said  he  was  locoed,  but  he  guessed  he  wasn't  locoed 
any  worse  than  I.  Well,  I  thought  I  knew  who  was 
locoed.  So  I  got  him,  and  together  we  cinched  my 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

kit  on  him,  and  I  tra-laed  'em  and  lit  out.  Look 
at  him  now!  He's  got  more  sense  than  the  whole 
camp  I  left  that  morning.  Knows  just  what  he 
wants  and  when  he's  had  enough,  and  don't 
go  on  trying  to  pile  it  up  to  keep."  He  nodded 
his  head  with  pride  over  to  where  the  horse 
stood  dozing  and  lazily  whipping  off  a  fly  from 
time  to  time  with  his  sun-burned  tail,  a  picture  of 
content. 

"Even  then,  do  you  know,  I  wasn't  satisfied?  I 
had  the  disease.  For  some  time  I  kept  on  grub 
staking;  just  travelling  up  and  down  till  I  got  sort 
of  bent  double,  looking  at  the  ground  for  gold,  like 
Mammon.  I  know  the  hot  plains  where  the  only 
vegetation  is  sage-brush,  and  the  only  breaks  are  the 
flat-topped  buttes  and  the  crooked  mesas  that  frizzle 
in  the  blistering  sun,  and  the  only  inhabitants  are 
the  lizards  and  the  ants,  and  I  know  the  big  moun 
tain-tops  where  a  man  can  hear  God  writing  his 
eternal  laws  as  Moses  did.  So  I  went  over  most  of 
the  Rockies  and  Sierras,  but,  little  by  little,  as  I 
wandered  up  and  down,  I  began  to  feel  how  good  it 
was  to  be  up  there,  even  if  I  didn't  strike  gold,  but 
123 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

just  found  the  air  clear  and  clean  as  dew,  and  the 
earth  quiet  and  undisturbed  and  carpeted  with  flow 
ers,  with  the  creatures  God  made — just  as  He  made 
'em,  neither  better  nor  worse.  And  at  last  I  got  to 
striking  deeper  and  deeper  in,  so  as  to  get  away 
from  folks  and  to  have  it  all  to  myself  and  the  other 
wild  animals." 

His  eyes  began  to  wander  over  the  landscape, 
spread  out  at  our  feet  like  a  map  of  Eden,  and  his 
face  grew  so  ruminative  that  I  saw  he  had  lost  in 
terest  in  his  story  and  I  began  to  fear  that  I  should 
not  hear  the  rest  of  it.  At  length  I  made  so  bold  as 
to  ask  him  a  question. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  find  it  at  last?" 

He  came  out  of  his  reverie  as  out  of  a  cloud. 

"Find  what?" 

"The  gold.    Your  mine." 

"Oh!  I  was  telling  you  about  it,  wasn't  I  ?  Well, 
it  was  fool  luck — just  fool  luck.  You  know  it 
doesn't  take  sense  to  get  gold.  Some  of  the  biggest 
fools  I  ever  saw  made  the  most  money. 

"One  day  I  had  got  up  pretty  high  on  the  range 
and  had  turned  my  horse  out,  to  enjoy  one  of  the  most 
124 


A   BROTHER   TO   DIOGENES 

beautiful  views  in  the  world,  when  I  struck  it — just 
fool  luck. 

"I  had  about  given  up  all  idea  of  ever  hitting 
anything  richer  than  the  dirt  to  bury  me  in  when  I 
stumbled  on  it.  That's  a  curious  thing  about  life. 
We  work  ourselves  out  trying  to  make  a  strike,  and 
when  we  are  about  dead  we  stump  our  toe  and 
there  it  is  at  our  feet. 

"I  felt  sure  it  was  where  no  man  had  ever  been 
before  and  where  I  came  mighty  near  not  going; 
for  nature  or  God,  after  putting  it  there,  fortified  it 
with  a  more  impenetrable  abatis  than  any  engineer 
could  ever  have  designed  if  he  spent  his  life  trying. 
He  hid  it  among  inaccessible  mountains  and  spread 
before  it  a  desert  where  the  sun  dries  the  marrow  in 
men's  bones  and  an  atmosphere  which  is  like  a  blast 
from  hell.  I  had  a  dim  idea  that  there  was  a  region 
over  that  way  that  no  man's  eyes  had  ever  seen, 
and  so  I  took  an  old  friend  or  two  along  and  struck 
for  it,  to  see  what  it  was  like.  Not  that  men  had 
never  tried  it  before,  but  no  one  had  ever  set  his 
face  that  way  and  come  back;  and  those  who  fol 
lowed  them  found  only  borax  beds  and  their  sun- 
125 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

dried  bodies  tanned  by  a  sun  that  fried  all  the  fat 
out  of  a  man's  body  in  a  day. 

"I  tried  a  different  way — in  fact,  I  was  a  little 
crazy  then,  I  think.  They  say  God  protects  chil 
dren  and  idiots.  Anyhow,  I  went  in  over  the  peaks, 
my  old  Pinto  and  I.  I  didn't  have  much  idea  that 
I'd  ever  get  in,  and  I  had  less  that  if  I  got  in  I'd 
ever  get  out  again.  But  I  loaded  old  Pinto  down 
with  enough  to  last  me  a  good  four  months,  and  in 
I  went.  It  was  steep  climbing  most  of  the  way  and 
heavy  work  all  the  way.  But  I  liked  it  because  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  Adam  and  owned  the  earth. 

"Did  you  ever  go  where  you  could  feel  like 
Adam  ?"  he  asked  suddenly.  I  could  truthfully  say, 
"No." 

"Then  you  don't  know  how  a  man  can  feel. 

"That  is  a  curious  thought — after  you  get  used 
to  it.  At  first  it  is  too  big.  It  makes  the  head  swim. 
I  go  up  sometimes  into  the  mountains  and  see  the 
rim  of  the  earth  turn  up  or  down  as  it  slips  from 
over  the  sun  or  steals  over  it.  Or  I  go  out  into  the 
desert  to  feel  the  vastness  of  it  and  see  the  shadow 
of  the  globe  on  the  sky  and  know  that  in  all  that 
126 


A    BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

circle  there  is  not  a  soul  but  myself — just  my 
self  and  the  wild  creatures  who  follow  the  law  of 
nature. 

"I  had  been  in  there  some  months  when  it  came 
to  me  that  I'd  better  be  taking  my  bearings  so  as  to 
get  some  more  grub  and  tobacco  before  winter. 
But  when  I  started  on  the  back  trail  I  found  there 
were  places  I  had  come  up  which  I  couldn't  go 
down — not  without  losing  Pinto,  and  I  would  not 
do  that.  So  I  just  struck  on  to  cross  the  whole 
range.  This,  too,  was  more  than  I  had  laid  off,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  since  I  left  New  York, 
I  found  I  was  lost.  This  didn't  trouble  me  much, 
however,  for  it  is  appointed  for  man  once  to  die, 
and  it  might  as  well  be  like  Moses  on  a  mountain- 
top  as  like  a  pig  in  a  pen.  I  might  have  turned 
back,  but  every  now  and  then  I  found  nuggets  that 
hadn't  grown  there  and  that  I  knew  had  been 
washed  down  from  somewhere  up  ahead,  or  I  got 
views  that  beat  anything  I  ever  dreamed  of.  So 
I  kept  on  with  old  Pinto,  climbing  and  climbing, 
until  one  morning  we  came  to  what  I  took  to 
be  the  top  of  the  range.  But  when  I  got  there 
127 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

it  was  but  a  step  up  like  the  rest;  and  there  they 
were,  range  after  range,  stretching  beyond  me 
in  blue  waves  of  mountains,  billow  on  billow,  up  to 
snow-capped  peaks  that  held  up  the  sky.  And 
what  I  had  taken  to  be  a  table-land  was  really  only 
the  level  edge  of  the  crater  of  an  old  volcano.  But 
my  soul!  it  was  a  vision!  It  reminded  me  of  that 
saying,  'And  the  Lord  God  planted  a  garden  east 
ward  in  Eden.'  There  was  a  river  that  ran  down 
from  the  snow  above  and  divided  into  four  streams, 
one  of  which  ran  into  a  lake  and  all  about  it  were 
trees  and  flowers.  Pinto,  however,  did  not  seem  to 
be  as  interested  as  I  was,  and  he  began  at  once  to 
snuff  his  way  down  to  the  water,  with  me  at  his 
heels,  under  a  bower  of  lilacs  of  every  hue.  I  had 
been  so  busy  looking  around  at  the  flowers  and 
thinking  how  like  the  Garden  of  Eden  it  was,  and 
how  peaceful  it  was,  that  I  had  not  looked  at  the 
rocks,  but  when  I  sat  down  it  was  on  a  great  bulge 
in  the  ledge  that  the  volcano  had  once  thrown  up, 
and  after  a  while  I  began  to  examine  it.  As  soon 
as  I  saw  it  I  knew  what  it  was.  It  was  gold.  A 
great  vein  of  gold,  richer  than  any  I  ever  saw,  that 
128 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

that  volcano  had  pushed  up  there,  and  there  it  lay, 
a  great  stratum  with  one  end  bulging  out  and  the 
other  resting — in  hell,  I  reckon. 

"Well,  for  a  while  I  couldn't  think.  Then  my 
first  thought  was — if  Ken  had  only  lived — and  then 
the  others.  Next  I  thought  how  I'd  do  when  I  got 
out.  I'd  go  to  New  York  and  make  those  swine 
root  at  my  feet  for  the  gold  I'd  throw  in  their  mire. 
I  thought  how  I'd  insult  that  railroad  murderer,  and 
I  followed  my  fancy  till  I  got  sort  of  crazy  to  get 
there.  Then  it  came  to  me  that  I  might  as  well 
follow  the  lead  and  see  how  far  it  ran,  so  as  to  get 
an  idea  of  how  rich  I  was,  for  I  allowed  it  would 
run  $200,000  to  the  ton.  I  got  on  my  feet  and  began 
to  climb  over  it,  and  I  must  have  gone  a  mile  before 
it  began  to  dip.  I  was  right  at  the  top  of  the  rim 
and  there  was  a  little  clump  of  pines  and  Joshuas 
there,  and  as  I  looked  under  the  shade  of  one  I  saw 
two  piles  that  looked  like  ant-hills,  except  that  they 
were  rather  too  regular.  I  pushed  up  to  them — and 
if  they  weren't  gold!  Two  piles  of  gold  as  high  as 
my  shoulder  that  had  been  dug  and  piled  there.  My 
teeth  began  to  chatter  and  before  I  knew  it  I  had 
129 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

jerked  out  my  gun  to  kill  anyone  who  would  dis 
pute  my  claim. 

"The  next  minute,  though,  my  breath  stopped. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  clump  lay  two  skeletons, 
and  through  the  breast  of  one  and  through  the  ribs 
of  the  other  were  knives  that  told  the  story.  A  little 
farther  off,  where  I  found  them  later,  were  the  skele 
tons  of  their  horses  and  their  kits  and  things.  These 
two  men  had  been  chums  for  years — you  might  say 
like  brothers — and  together  had  come  all  that  way, 
faced  all  the  dangers  and  endured  all  the  hardships 
that  I  had  known,  and  then,  in  the  hour  of  their 
triumph,  when  they  were  standing  in  sight  of  enough 
gold  to  buy  a  kingdom,  they  had  killed  each  other 
over  some  petty  difference  arising  out  of  their  divi 
sion.  And  the  buzzards  had  picked  their  bones. 

"I  knew  it  all  then,  but  it  was  not  until  that  night 
that  it  came  home  to  me  in  its  full  significance.  I 
knew  what  it  meant  if  I  should  return  to  the  East 
with  my  new  wealth,  and  all  that  night  I  rolled  and 
tossed  as  I  had  not  done  since  I  left  the  city.  And 
the  next  morning  the  pillilooeets  came  and  gibed 
and  shrilled  their  'Pee-ahs'  at  me  with  their  noses, 
130 


A   BROTHER   TO    DIOGENES 

and  the  buzzards  circled  and  watched  and  cocked 
their  eyes  down  at  me  as  they  had  done  at  thousands 
who  have  died  for  gold. 

"I  fought  it  out  all  that  day,  but  that  night  when 
the  darkness  fell  again,  rolling  down  from  the  gray 
mountain-tops  above  me,  and  the  stars  came  out  and 
blinked  down  at  me  like  the  eyes  of  angels,  waiting 
to  know  my  decision,  I  reached  it.  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  cut  it  and  all  that  went  along  with  it.  I 
was  free.  Why  should  I  go  into  slavery  again  ?  At 
the  thought  my  soul  revolted.  The  reek  and  the 
stench  of  the  cities  came  back  to  me  and  turned  my 
stomach.  It  all  became  clear  to  me  that  night  under 
the  silent  stars.  It  seemed  sort  of  to  get  in  my  blood. 
And  presently  I  began  to  think  of  all  that  I  had  lost 
— of  the  comrades  I  used  to  have  when  I  was  tramp 
ing  up  and  down  in  Virginia  with  no  more  than  one 
frying-pan  for  a  mess  and  a  ragged  blanket  for  two 
of  us,  fighting  for  something  else  than  gold.  I 
thought  of  those  who  had  died  for  it.  And  then  of 
little  Ken,  as  he  withered  there  in  New  York  in  that 
cursed  Death- Valley  atmosphere.  And  presently  I 
began  to  feel  that  I  had  gotten  along  pretty  well  as 
131 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

it  was,  and  I  began  to  count  up  what  I  would  lose  if 
I  went  back  to  that  hell  where  I  used  to  see  men 
frying  in  their  own  fat.  All  the  camps  I  loved  up 
in  the  keen  air  on  the  mountain-tops  came  back  to 
me,  the  desert  with  its  wide  warm  places  and  silence 
and  the  deep  gloom  of  the  redwood  forests  where  the 
light  is  tempered  to  the  cool  green  like  the  depths  of 
the  sea;  and  at  last  I  decided  I'd  just  keep  that 
gold  there  until  I  wanted  it,  and  in  the  meantime 
I'd  live  as  God  meant  me  to  live,  and  see  the  country 
God  had  made. 

"To  prove  my  gratitude  to  my  two  friends  who 
had  helped  me  to  my  decision  I  took  their  bones  and 
buried  them  each  in  a  pile  of  the  gold  that  had 
caused  their  death;  and  as  I  did  not  know  which 
was  which,  I  drew  lots  to  see  which  should  have 
which.  And  there  they  lie  now,  each  under  a  pile 
of  gold  that  would  have  made  Midas  mad.  I  picked 
up  enough  gold  to  last  me  until  I  went  back.  It 
was  a  long  and  tedious  trip,  but  after  weeks  of  work 
I  found  my  way  out — and  here  I  am,  the  richest  man 
in  all  America  if  not  in  the  world." 

I  glanced  at  him  to  see  if  he  were  not  joking,  but 
132 


A   BROTHER   TO   DIOGENES 

his  face  was  profoundly  serious,  and  I  became  quite 
satisfied  that  he  was  mad. 

"What  do  you  call  your  mine?" 

"I  call  it  the  Cain  and  Abel,"  he  said,  "after  the 
two  brothers  who  first  found  it.  You  see  I  con 
sider  them  my  sleeping  partners  and  they  have  all 
the  gold  they  want  now." 

He  mused  for  a  little  while,  but  he  soon  began 
again. 

"Yes,  now  I  reckon  I'm  about  the  richest  man  in 
the  world.  I've  ranches  so  big  that  it  takes  me 
months  to  get  over  them.  My  wheat  fields  stretch 
from  the  mountains  all  the  way  to  the  coast  and  my 
gardens  bloom  from  one  year's  end  to  another.  I 
have  my  art  galleries,  too,  with  such  pictures  as  no 
artist  but  one  ever  painted,  and  they  are  all  taken 
care  of  for  me.  The  colors  are  from  Him  who 
made  the  heavens  blue  and  stained  these  hills  green, 
who  paints  the  sunrise  and  sunset  and  spangled  the 
sky  with  stars." 

To  get  him  off  this  subject  I  asked  him  how  he 
managed  in  cold  weather. 

"Oh,  I  never  get  cold,"  he  said,  "I'm  a  nomad 
133 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

like  my  ancestors.  When  I  wish  it  I  travel  with  the 
summer,  but  sometimes  I  love  the  keen,  frosty  air 
of  the  mountain  ledges;  it  hardens  me.  I  am  like 
the  water-ouzel;  I  love  the  storms  and  the  water 
falls.  And  up  there  I  make  friends  with  God's 
creatures— from  the  big,  lazy,  amiable  bears  to  the 
little  scolding  pillilooeets,  who  live  on  pine  nuts 
and  fresco  the  trees  with  their  little  claws." 

"Do  you  ever  kill  them?"  I  asked. 

"Me?  No!  Am  I  God  to  kill  and  to  make 
alive?" 

"I  see  you  carry  a  pistol." 

"Only  for  men.  They  are  the  only  animals  that 
prey  on  their  own  kind  even  when  they  are  not 
hungry.  Other  animals  kill  in  self-defence  or  for 
meat." 

"But  have  you  never  thought  that  you  might  get 
ill?" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  I  do  not  worry  about  it.  It  is 
appointed  to  man  once  to  die.  I  shall  not  antici 
pate  it.  Whenever  Death  finds  me  I  shall  try  to 
meet  him  pleasantly." 

"No,  but  I  mean  if  you  fall  ill?" 
134 


A   BROTHER   TO   DIOGENES 

"Oh,  most  illness  is  the  fruit  of  the  life  fools  live. 
Over  there  in  the  old  mission  I  have  a  cupboard  if 
I  ever  want  to  shut  myself  up,  and  up  the  canyon  I 
have  a  friend  or  two  who  understand  me  and  let  me 
roam  about  without  attempting  to  hobble  me  or 
weary  me  with  futilities.  And  in  various  places  I 
have  ranches  where  they  would  be  glad  to  give  me 
a  corner,  for  the  sake  of  the  little,  dirty,  sunburned 
children  who  know  me.  But  when  I  die  I  want  to 
die  under  the  open  sky.  No  peering  fools  to  treat  me 
with  contempt;  rather  let  the  buzzards  have  me. 
I'm  going  down  now  to  see  my  orchards  in  the 
Santa  Clara  Valley:  miles  of  white  bloom.  Have 
you  ever  seen  them?" 

I  told  him,  "No,"  but  that  I  had  heard  of  them, 
and  then  to  test  him  and  partly  to  humor  him,  I 
asked,  "Are  all  those  yours?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  let  others  work  them 
and  I  just  enjoy  them.  That's  reasonable,  ain't 
it?" 

It  seemed  to  me  so  at  the  moment.  But  when  I 
had  said  good-by,  and  was  coming  back  to  town, 
after  asking  him  to  let  me  take  him  some  tobacco 
135 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

the  next  day,  I  began  to  be  a  little  befogged  about 
him. 

When  I  returned  next  day,  to  my  disappointment 
he  was  not  there;  but  in  a  cleft  in  the  rock  against 
which  he  had  leaned  was  a  small  package  with  a 
note  addressed  to  me  on  the  card  I  had  given  him; 
and  in  the  package  were  a  handful  of  specimens  of 
almost  pure  gold,  which  he  said  he  had  left  because 
I  seemed  "rather  poor."  I  took  the  specimens  and 
showed  them  to  a  scientific  man  whom  I  had  met 
in  the  town  and  who  did  some  assaying  there. 

"Where  did  you  get  them?"  he  asked  in  wonder. 

"An  old  fellow  gave  them  to  me." 

"So  you  have  seen  him?" 

"Yes.     Who  is  he?" 

"No  one  knows.  He  calls  himself  fa  brother  to 
Diogenes.'  Some  think  him  mad,  and,  perhaps,  he 
is.  I  don't  know." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Gold." 

"How  pure?" 

"Almost  pure.  It  has  a  little  sulphur  mixed  with 
it.  He  evidently  knows  where  there  is  a  gold  mine. 
136 


A   BROTHER   TO   DIOGENES 

Probably  he  gets  it  and  puts  it  through  a  crude 
smelting  process.  See,  this  has  been  in  the  fire." 

"He  says  it  came  from  a  volcano." 

"I  don't  know.  No  one  does.  Attempts  have 
been  made  to  follow  him,  but  he  is  too  keen  for 
that;  he  has  had  great  offers,  which  he  laughs  at. 
Some  think  he  is  in  league  with  the  devil." 

"He  seemed  to  be  a  harmless  old  lunatic." 

"Yes.  But  he  talks  reasonably  enough.  You 
were  in  great  luck  to  get  any  of  his  nuggets.  He 
usually  gives  only  to  the  poor.  He  must  be  mad." 


137 


A  GOTH 


A    GOTH 

1  HAD  known  him  when  he  first  came  to  town 
from  the  backwoods,  a  strapping,  big,  raw,  long 
haired,  shaggy  country  boy,  so  green  that  it  is  a 
wonder  the  cows  had  not  eaten  him,  and  without  a 
cent  in  his  pocket.  And  now  he  was  in  the  papers 
of  two  continents,  spoken  of  by  some  with  that  re 
spect  which  the  possession  of  mysterious  millions 
usually  exacts,  as  "a  power  in  the  financial  world"; 
assailed  by  others  with  bitterness  as  a  "pirate"  or 
"highwayman"  who  lived  but  to  upset  values,  de 
stroy  markets,  and  batten  on  the  fortunes  of  the  in 
vestors  he  had  wrecked.  Whichever  he  was,  he  had 
become  in  the  twenty  years  that  had  passed  since  I 
had  last  seen  him  one  of  the  most  interesting,  if 
disreputable,  figures  in  commercial  life,  and  had 
thus  verified  a  brazen  prediction  which  he  had  made 
when  he  first  appeared  in  our  little  boarding-house 
company  with  his  red  head,  worn  clothes,  and 
patched  shoes.  Long-limbed,  big- jointed,  and  bony, 
141 


UNDER    THE    CRUST 

with  his  clothes  too  tight  and  too  short  where  he  had 
outgrown  them,  he  became  at  first  a  sort  of  butt  in 
the  boarding-house.  His  cheek-bones  were  high,  his 
mouth  and  nose  big;  his  eyes,  deep  blue,  had  an  ex 
pression  of  singular  candor  in  them  like  that  of  a 
boy's,  and  when  his  bull-dog  chin  was  set  you  might 
as  well  have  tried  to  move  the  bow  of  Ulysses.  These 
were  his  weapons  of  offence  and  defence.  He 
quickly  put  an  end  to  any  tendency  to  ridicule  on 
the  part  of  his  fellow  boarders;  for  he  was  as  choleric 
as  a  poodle  and  as  nervy  as  a  game-cock  and  within 
a  week  he  had  "called  down"  the  two  best  men  in 
the  company.  He  was  never  cast  down,  never  con 
founded,  and  he  was,  in  a  sort,  liked  by  most  of 
us,  for  he  was  polite  when  he  was  treated  civilly, 
and  he  was  universally  respectful  to  women. 

He  had  one  besetting  sin.  He  was  a  born  gam 
bler,  and  when  he  came  to  grief  I  helped  him  out, 
and  it  was  my  loan — offered,  not  asked  for — that 
pulled  him  out  of  a  trouble  more  serious  than  I  had 
dreamed  of.  He  told  me  afterward  that  he  would 
have  killed  himself  if  he  had  not  been  afraid  of  hell, 
and  if  he  had  not  been  unwilling  to  leave  the  girl  he 
142 


A   GOTH 

was  in  love  with — two  curiously  different  motives. 
And  he  showed  me  her  picture,  a  photograph  of  an 
apple-cheeked  country  girl  without  a  trace  of  dis 
tinction.  He  declared  her  to  be  the  most  beautiful 
creature  in  the  world,  and  vowed  that  some  day  he 
would  dress  her  in  "black  silk  and  diamonds." 

It  was  this  episode,  perhaps,  which  made  Dorman 
remember  me  now  when,  after  twenty  years,  our  eyes 
met  in  the  Cafe  La  Belle,  that  gay  rendezvous  of 
the  gay  life  of  Nice.  A  movement  in  the  brilliant 
parterre  of  hats  before  me  opened  a  vista,  and  there, 
at  the  end  of  it,  seated  at  table  with  several  ladies, 
who,  though  for  the  most  part,  fashionably  coifed 
and  gorgeously  dressed,  appeared  rather  out  of  place, 
was  my  old  friend  and  former  protege.  I  knew  him 
at  once.  After  two  seconds  of  puzzled  reminiscence, 
due,  he  told  me  frankly,  to  his  astonishment  at  see 
ing  me  in  Nice,  he  knew  me  too,  and  without  a  word 
he  pushed  back  his  chair  and  came  striding  toward 
me  with  open  mouth  and  outstretched  hands,  shout 
ing  his  welcome.  There  was  no  doubt  of  his  sin 
cerity,  and  people  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  his 
great  bulk  surmounted  by  his  fine  head  with  its 
143 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

tawny  mane.  He  was  evidently  not  unknown,  at 
least  to  the  men;  for  a  number  of  them  spoke  to 
their  companions,  who  thereupon  put  up  their 
lorgnons  and  gazed  at  him  with  renewed  curiosity. 

I  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him.  He  was  the 
first  compatriot  I  had  seen  since  my  arrival  the 
evening  before  on  the  Sud  Express,  except,  indeed, 
one  whom  I  could  scarcely  reckon  as  such,  so  com 
pletely  was  he  disguised  in  foreign  manners,  imita 
tions,  and  affectations.  This  young  man  was  the 
son  of  a  man  of  great  wealth,  known  in  the  world 
for  his  money,  who,  on  his  part,  was  the  son  of  a 
man  of  great  ability,  who  had  made  the  wealth. 
The  grandfather  had  founded  huge  enterprises  and 
amassed  thereby  a  large  fortune;  the  father  carried 
on  the  enterprises  and  increased  the  fortune  largely; 
and  now  the  son,  who  had  been  pampered  and 
spoiled  from  his  golden  cradle  up,  was  spending  the 
money  by  every  method  which  occurred  to  the  idle 
brain  of  a  youth  of  some  little  intellect,  extraordinary 
knowledge  of  gay  life  for  a  man  of  his  years,  and  as 
much  folly  as  could  well  be  packed  into  one  frame 
somewhat  burdened  by  rather  unusual  good  looks. 
144 


A    GOTH 

I  had  known  of  the  grandfather,  old  Sam  Newman, 
when  he  was  at  the  zenith  of  his  power.  It  was  he 
who  had  recognized  the  capabilities  of  my  friend 
when  he  had  left  our  little  circle  for  the  wider  field 
of  the  commercial  metropolis,  and  had  utilized  his 
forces  there,  giving  him  his  start.  I  had  known  the 
father  when  he  was  considered  the  exponent  of 
wealth  and  its  capabilities,  and  I  had  casually  met 
the  young  man,  Sellaby  Newman,  when  he  was  be 
ginning  to  be  known  as  a  candidate  for  the  honor  of 
being  esteemed  the  wildest  example  of  a  wild  and 
dissipated  set.  Since  then  he  had  more  than  ful 
filled  his  early  promise,  and  had  achieved  what  his 
own  set  of  young  fools  were  said  to  envy  him:  an 
almost  international  reputation  for  reckless  debauch 
ery.  I  might  not  have  known  him  now  had  not  his 
name  been  prominently  before  the  public  of  late  as 
the  quasi-hero  of  a  somewhat  unsavory  scandal 
connected  with  the  name  of  a  danseuse  of  much 
vaunted  beauty  and  unusual  recklessness.  I  had 
seen  her  a  week  before  in  Paris,  carrying  an  audi 
ence  by  storm;  and  now  when  she  came  sailing 
into  the  cafe  with  all  the  gorgeousness  of  a  bird  of 
145 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

rarest  plumage  and  with  the  beauty  which  was  undeni 
ably  hers  she  attracted  the  attention  of  the  entire  com 
pany.  At  her  side,  handing  her  along  with  a  certain 
insolence  of  air  and  a  trick  of  the  eyes  and  shoulders 
which  he  had  caught  in  his  wanderings,  was  the 
young  spendthrift,  Sellaby  Newman,  and  I  think  I 
should  have  known  him  even  had  not  his  name  been 
muttered  from  half  a  dozen  tables  near  me.  The 
tone  was  far  from  friendly  and  the  term  "Americain" 
was  used  a  number  of  times  as  an  epithet. 

After  he  had  taken  his  seat  he  glanced  my  way 
with  an  air  of  studied  unconcern  and  his  eyes,  or 
rather,  the  one  which  was  not  obscured  by  a  monocle, 
fell  into  mine;  but  evidently  my  face  recalled  no 
recollection — at  least,  none  which  he  was  willing  to 
harbor.  He  half  turned  to  his  companion  and  mut 
tered  some  observation  at  which  her  carmined  lips 
barely  parted. 

It  was  at  that  minute  that  I  first  saw  my  old 
friend,  Dorman,  across  the  room,  and  he  came 
striding  between  the  tables  toward  me.  I  was,  I 
confess,  a  trifle  embarrassed  at  such  a  public  declara 
tion  of  my  virtues  as  he  gave;  but  he  was  as  ob- 
146 


A    GOTH 

livious  of  everything  else  as  though  he  had  been  in 
a  desert. 

Nothing  would  satisfy  him  but  I  must  come  to 
his  table  and  dine  with  him.  My  declaration  that 
I  had  ordered  my  dinner  had  no  effect.  I  must 
dine  again.  "Come  along.  I  will  show  you  a  real 
dinner.  You  don't  know  what  a  dinner  is.  This 
isn't  the  old  boarding-house.  Mme.  M.  has  the 
best  chef  in  Nice  and  he  knows  me  well.  Don't 
he,  Joseph?"  This  to  the  sleek  head-waiter  who 
had  followed  him  across  the  room  and  who  now 
stood  smiling  obsequiously  at  his  elbow. 

So,  I  was  taken  across  and  introduced  to  his  wife, 
a  plain  but  pleasant  looking  little  woman  with  gentle 
eyes  and  as  destitute  of  waist  as  the  Continent  of 
Africa;  overloaded  with  diamonds  worth  a  king's 
ransom,  even  when  kings  were  rated  high. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  as  he  called  my  name,  "this  is 
my  old  friend,  Tom,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me 
talk  so  often."  Mary's  kind  eyes  betrayed  an  ex 
pression  of  vague  anxiety.  She  was  "very  pleased 
to  meet"  me;  as  were  the  others  to  whom  I  was 
presented  in  turn. 

14? 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

"Are  you  a  broker?"  she  inquired,  evidently  try 
ing  to  place  me. 

"A  broker!  No,"  burst  in  her  husband;  "this  is 
the  man  who,  when  I  was  broke  that  time — the  first 
time — down  in  the  country — gave  me  the  money  to 
square  up  and  gave  me  that  good  advice  about 
gambling  that  I've  never  forgotten."  This  to  me, 
looking  me  full  in  the  face,  who  had  read,  within 
two  months,  of  one  of  the  greatest  gambling  deals 
that  Wall  Street  had  known  in  years,  put  through 
by  the  sheer  nerve  of  the  man  before  me. 

Mary,  however,  took  it  as  he  meant  her  to  take  it. 
Her  eyes  softened.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  knew  now,  and 
was  "mightily  obliged"  to  me,  she  was  sure.  But 
for  me  William  might  never  have  gotten  up.  He  had 
profited  by  my  advice.  He  had  often  told  her  so. 
He  laid  all  his  good  fortune  to  having  followed  it. 

William's  blue  eyes  were  on  me  blandly. 

"No,  not  all,  Mary,"  he  said  with  sincerity.  "I 
must  give  you  credit  for  some."  And  again  his  eyes 
met  mine  with  that  candor  which  was  like  a  boy's 
and  which  had  cost  so  many  men  so  much. 

The  other  ladies  at  the  table  were  his  sister-in-law 
148 


A   GOTH 

and  his  "Cousin  Jane,"  the  last  very  like  him,  but 
with  a  certain  refinement  which  the  rest  lacked,  and 
with  a  twitch  of  humor  about  her  wide,  strong 
mouth  which  showed  that  William  Dorman  had  not 
deceived  her. 

The  dinner  was  all  that  he  had  promised,  and  be 
fore  we  were  through,  Mme.  M.  came  in  in  her  quaint 
costume,  tightly  laced  over  her  buxom  figure, 
touched  off  with  jewels,  and  beamed  on  us  out  of 
her  handsome  eyes  which  had  once,  so  report  said, 
ensnared  one  of  the  most  celebrated  men  of  France; 
and  Dorman  drank  her  health  in  "the  best  bottle  of 
wine  in  Europe,"  as  he  declared. 

As  we  dined  he  told  me  something  of  his  history — 
of  the  struggle  he  had  made,  the  difficulties  he  had 
encountered,  and  the  reverses  he  had  suffered;  in  all 
of  which,  he  said,  Mary  had  stood  by  him,  like  the 
trump  she  was.  And  as  he  talked  and  ate  and  drank 
— enormously — he  recounted  his  experiences  with  the 
same  zest  with  which  he  drained  his  champagne. 

He  certainly  was  not  modest.  His  boasting,  how 
ever,  was  relieved  by  his  grim  humor.  In  the 
midst  of  his  relation  of  some  coup  which  had  cost 
149 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

him  or  someone  else  a  million  or  more,  he  would 
burst  out  into  real  laughter  over  the  recollection  of 
the  ridiculous  figure  he  used  to  cut  in  the  boarding- 
house  in  his  short  breeches  and  his  patched  coat. 

"By  Jove!  they  were  worth  a  good  pile  to  me, 
too!"  he  declared.  "I  played  them  in  New  York 
against  some  of  those  slick  fellows  till  they  were  more 
threadbare  than  they  ever  were  in  the  old  boarding- 
house.  I  used  to  look  dull  and  talk  like  a  country 
man  until  they  tumbled  to  it  and  began  to  shy  off 
when  I  put  on  my  country-boy  air." 

He  had  been  office  boy,  telegraph  operator,  book 
keeper,  confidential  clerk,  general  factotum:  "pretty 
much  everything,  in  fact,"  he  said,  "from  head-man 
to  little  dog  under  the  wagon. 

"I  didn't  keep  a  place  long,"  he  laughed;  "I  was 
just  learnin'.  I  learnt  telegraphin'  so  's  I  could 
send  my  own  ciphers  and  take  theirs;  bookkeepin' 
so  's  I  could  tell  where  I  stood  and  how  they  stood; 
but  I  could  carry  a  whole  set  of  books  in  my  head 
then.  I  took  a  private-secretaryship  so  as  to  get  a 
good  gauge  of  a  man  I  wanted  to  gauge — and  I 
got  it." 

150 


A   GOTH 

He  chuckled  at  a  reminiscence  and  then  broke 
out:  "I'll  tell  you  about  it.  I  had  got  in  with  the 
old  man."  He  named  the  grandfather  of  the  young 
spendthrift  at  the  table  across  the  room  with  the 
danseuse.  "He  liked  me  because  I  was  smart  and 
could  look  dull,  and  because  I  could  do  twice  as 
much  work  as  most  men.  He  knew  I  was  smart 
and  he  thought  he  could  use  me  and  fool  me  too — 
that  was  his  way.  Oh,  he  was  a  keen  one!  There 
was  where  I  got  my  real  start."  He  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed.  "You  see  I  had  learnt  all  his 
ciphers  and  I  could  read  'em  almost  at  sight,  and  he 
didn't  know  that  I  could  even  telegraph.  So  that 
gave  me  considerable  advantage.  Then,  when  I 
threw  up  the  secretaryship  he  wanted  to  know  what 
I  was  going  to  do.  Told  him  I'd  let  him  know  soon. 
I'd  already  done  it.  I  staked  every  dollar  on  the 
ace — and  won." 

His  wife  turned  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
"Now,  William,  you  are  talking  about  those  cards 
again." 

"Oh,  no!  I'm  not.  I'm  only  talking  about  those 
I  used  to  play."  This  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  for 
151 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

she  turned  to  me  with  a  pleasant  smile.     "You  know 
he  used  to  play  cards  right  smart;   but " 

"But  now  I've  seen  the  error  of  my  ways,"  he  said 
quickly  with  a  candid  look  at  me,  and  then  added, 
"The  man  that  would  deceive  as  good  a  woman  as 

that  ought  to   be  damned — I'll   be   d d   if  he 

oughtn't!" 

Without  giving  me  time  to  reflect  on  this  bit  of 
casuistry  he  swept  on,  giving  me  a  glimpse  of  his 
career  and  methods  which  was  certainly  startling 
and  at  times  astounding.  He  had  often  been  hard 
pushed,  sometimes  to  the  very  wall,  at  times  much 
worse  than  insolvent.  "But  I  always  knew  I'd  win 
out,"  he  declared  vehemently.  "You  see,  I  always 
paid  in  the  end,  with  interest;  so  that,  at  last,  I  could 
always  get  staked.  I  was  often  destroyed,  but  never 
cast  down,  and  they  never  knew  it.  And  that  little 
woman  there — '  He  looked  at  his  wife,  with  a  nod 
and  smile  of  real  affection,  and  she  blushed  like  a 
delighted  girl — "she  stood  by  me  like  a  brick. 
When  I  was  up,  she  wore  my  diamonds,  and  when 
I  was  down,  she  gave  me  hers." 

"And  why  not?"  she  said  simply. 
152 


A   GOTH 

Her  husband  smiled  and  went  on:  "Till  at  last 
we  began  to  be  really  somebody.  By  the  time  they 
had  me  stretched  out  and  nailed  to  the  floor  with 
a  stake  through  my  body  some  five  or  six  dozen 
times,  they  began  to  find  I  was  really  alive,  and 
then  they  began  to  come  around.  Oh,  I  know  'em, 
the  snivelling  hounds!  they  fawn  on  you  when  you 
are  up  and  fall  on  you  and  try  to  tear  you  to  pieces 
when  you  are  down.  But  no  one  ever  heard  me 
whine  when  I  was  hit  or  knew  me  to  hector  when  I 
was  up.  It  is  when  I  am  down  that  I  bluster.  You 
know  that,"  he  said,  with  a  glint  of  a  smile  in  his 
blue  eyes;  "and  I  have  bluffed  many  a  one. 

"But  my  biggest  bluff  was  my  Wheat  Deal.  I'll 
tell  you  about  it.  I  was  young  then,  but  it  made  me 
old.  And  it  came  mighty  near  settling  my  hash." 
He  cast  his  eye  just  half-way  toward  his  wife,  and  I 
asked  him  how  it  was.  "You  mean  you  went 
broke?" 

"Oh,  no!"  he  laughed;  "I  was  broke,  but  that 

wa'n't  anything.     I  was  generally  broke  those  days. 

But  by  pawning  everything  we  had  and  brazening  it 

out,  and  knowing  where  every  bushel  of  wheat  was 

153 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

on  the  earth — every  bushel,  mind  you — and  just  how 
long  it  would  take  to  get  it  to  market,  I  pulled  it  off. 
But,  by  Heaven!  it  made  me  old.  Any  fool  can 
make  a  corner,  but  it  takes  a  strong  head  to  get  out 
of  it  yourself." 

"Well,  you  had  good  luck.  Very  few  men  have 
tried  that  and  come  out  safe." 

"She  saved  me."  He  nodded  over  towards  his 
wife.  "And  it  cost  me  a  cool  million  dollars,  too." 

"How  was  that?" 

"Why,  the  gang  who  had  been  trying  for  weeks 
to  skin  me  waked  up  one  day  to  find  that  judgment- 
day  had  come.  I  had  closed  out  every  bushel  and 
had  gone  home  to  go  to  sleep,  which  I  needed 
mightily,  when  they  began  to  roll  in.  She,  there, 
had  known  something  big  was  up  by  the  way  I  acted : 
figgerin'  and  cussin'  and  fumin'  and  drinkin'  coffee 
and  not  sleepin'  a  wink  sometimes  all  night,  and  she 
hadn't  liked  it  any  too  much  while  it  was  goin'  on. 
But  when  I  came  home  and  told  her  it  was  all  right 
and  I  had  got  out  safe,  she  said:  'Thank  God! 
Well  now,  William,  I  don't  want  you  to  do  that  sort 
of  thing  any  more,  no,  not  for  three  millions.' — I 
154 


A    GOTH 

had  told  her  I  had  made  three  millions. — But  she 
thought  three  millions  was  a  good,  comfortable  sum, 
too.  Her  father  had  made  three  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  once  on  his  wheat  crop,  and  whenever  I  made 
anything  on  wheat,  which  I  had  done  several  times, 
a  few  hundred  thousand  or  so,  she  had  always 
brought  up  those  three  hundred  and  fifty,  and  I 
never  could  make  her  feel  that  mine  was  so  much 
more  till  I  put  on  a  few  hundreds  and  sixty  or 
seventy  odd  besides.  She  understood  it  all  right,  but 
she  could'nt  feel  it.  In  fact,  she  hasn't  much  con 
fidence  in  any  arithmetic  that  she  can't  do  on  her 
fingers;  but,  by  Jove!  she  can  do  the  addition  with 
those  fingers — they  just  fly. 

"Well,  as  I  say,  I  hadn't  more  than  got  home 
when  they  began  to  come  in,  pleadin'  the  baby-act, 
with  white  faces  and  shakin'  chins,  to  tell  me  they 

was  busted — the  whole  d d  gang — cleaned  up,  as 

though  I  did'nt  know  it.  They  had  looked  into  the 
pit  of  hell  expecting  to  see  me  sizzling  there  and 
found  out  'twas  themselves.  I  knew  'em,  and  knew 
what  every  one  of  'em  was  worth,  an'  what  they 
were,  too,  down  in  the  bottom  of  their  souls.  Some 
155 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

of  'em  were  good  fellows,  too;  but  they  didn't  know 
how  to  play  the  game.  Others  knew  how  to  play  it, 
but  got  caught  and  come  to  tell  me  so,  like  men — 
not  to  whine.  Well,  I  never  had  it  in  me  to  be  hard 
on  a  man  when  he  was  down  I  never  hit  a  man 
real  hard  but  once — I  mean  since  I  was  a  boy, 
when  I  had  to  fight  pretty  hard  now  and  then — that 
was  when  a  fellow,  one  day,  knocked  another  one 
down  and  then  began  to  kick  him.  Well,  I  reached 
over,  and  got  a  grab  of  his  neck,  and  when  I  let  him 
go,  he  kind  of  flopped  down  by  the  other  in  a  lump 
— he  didn't  know  whether  he  had  a  rib  left  stickin* 
to  his  backbone  or  not.  So  now,  when  they  came 
rollin'  in  that  away"  (he  always  said  "that  away"), 
"I  began  to  size  'em  up  and  ask  'em  how  much  they 
were  worth.  Well,  so  much.  And  how  much  'd  it 
take  'em  to  begin  on  again;  would  so  much  do  it? 
'Yes,  indeed.'  'Well,  I'll  leave  you  that  and  I'll 
take  the  rest,'  I'd  say;  and  you  ought  to  have  seen 
'em  pearten  up.  It  really  was  a  big  thing  for  'em; 
for  it  saved  'em  from  liquidatin'.  I  got  so  in  the  way 
of  doing  it  that  when  two  or  three  of  'em  come  in 
who  I  knew  had  been  layin'  for  me,  I  took  the 
156 


A   GOTH 

high  horse  and  let  'em  off  easy  in  the  same  way. 
One  of  'em  broke  down  and  blubbered — said  I  was 
a  white  man  after  all,  and  he'd  never  say  another 
word  against  me  's  long  as  he  lived.  I  came  near 
tellin'  him  what  a  white-livered  hound  I  knew  he 
was,  but  I  was  feelin'  kind  o'  good,  and  it  was  only 
when  they'd  all  gone  that  I  began  to  think,  maybe, 
I'd  been  a  blazed-faced  fool  to  let  'em  off  that  away. 
However,  I  was  feelin'  pretty  virtuous  and  was 
thinkin'  what  a  good,  kind  sort  of  fellow  I  was,  when 
the  door  opened  and  in  walked  Mary.  As  soon  as 
she  come  in,  I  knew  there  was  something  up,  by  the 
way  she  began.  She  just  plumped  herself  right  in 
front  of  me  and  opened  up: 

"'Why,  Will-iam!'  When  she  calls  me  'Will 
iam!'  I  have  to  look  out.  She  generally  calls  me 
'Popper'  or  'Popsy'  or  'Deary'  or  'Billy.'  But 
'William'  means  business,  and  'Will-iam!'  means 
hell  to  pay.  This  time  she  says,  'Why,  Will-iam, 
I  am  surprised!  Is  it  possible!'  Well,  I  was  so 
stuck  on  myself  that  for  a  minute  when  she  said 
she'd  been  listening  and  was  surprised,  I  thought 
she  must  be  put  out  at  my  bein'  so  generous. 
157 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

But  'twarn't  but  a  minute;  for  in  a  second,  she  was 
just  goin'  it:  head  up,  cheeks  flamin',  eyes  blazin', 
body  straight  and  stiff  as  a  poplar  and  words 
acomin'  about  five  hundred  to  the  minute.  'Why, 
William/  she  says,  'you've  been  gamblin' — gam- 
blin ' !  and  you  told  me,  and  I  was  foolish  enough  to 
believe  you,  't  you'd  been  "  buyin'  wheat."  Well,  for 
a  while  I  thought  I'd  brazen  it  out,  but  no  good. 
'  What  if  they  were  "  tryin'  to  do  you  ?  "  What  if  they 
were  "in  a  clique  to  rob  you  ?"  Is  that  any  reason 
why  you  should  rob  them  ?  I  know  you  are  smarter 
than  they.  I  knew  you  were  smarter  than  anybody 
else  when  I  married  you,  but  I  also  thought  you 
were  honester,  too !  Because  a  thief  is  layin'  for  you 
to  rob  you,  is  that  any  reason  why  you  should  lay 
for  him  and  rob  him  ?  You  know  what  that  makes 
you?  I  am  ashamed  to  hear  you  use  such  a — a — 
dishonest  argument/ 

"Well,  sir,  I  tried  to  recoup  by  pretending  to  be 
mad,  but  it  didn't  work, — no  sir,  she  had  the  call 
on  that,  and  she  played  it  well,  I  tell  you.  'I  am 
an  honest  woman,'  she  says,  'and  my  father  was  an 
honest  man  and — '  'Oh,  yes!'  I  says,  'I  know,  and 
158 


A   GOTH 

he  made  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  on  his 
wheat-crop  one  year!'  I  says,  'and  here  I've  made 
three  millions  on  wheat  and  you  are  abusing  me 
like  a  pickpocket.'  'Yes,'  she  says,  cutting  in  and 
getting  sort  of  high  and  mighty,  'and  that's  what 
you  are — by  your  own  confession — a  pickpocket — 
justified  to  yourself  because  you've  picked  the  pock 
ets  of  other  pickpockets.  No  use  of  your  sneerin'  at 
my  father!'  she  says,  'He  was  an  honest  man  and  he 
wouldn't  have  made  a  dollar  dishonestly,  not  for 
three  millions,  and  I  thought  when  I  married  you 
that  I  was  marrying  an  honest  man.' 

'"Well,  so  I  am,'  I  says. 

"'I  thought  so  till  to-night,'  she  says.  'But 
now — '  I  waited  for  her  to  finish;  but  she  just 
steadied  herself  and  looked  at  me  straight  and  clear; 
'I  am  an  honest  woman;  I  have  tried  to  live  so  and 
I  mean  to  die  so,  and  as  God  is  in  Heaven,  I  will 
take  my  children  and  go  back  home  and  live  down 
there  with  them.' 

"'Now,  look  ahere,  Mary;  be  reasonable,'  I  says; 
for  I  saw  she  meant  it.  When  she  gets  that  way 
she  always  says  'my  children,'  she  don't  allow  me  a 
159 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

hair  of  'em.  'I  will,'  she  says,  'as  God  is  my 
Maker.  I  don't  mean  them  to  be  brought  up  by 
a  gambler.' 

"'Mary,'  I  says — 

"And  I  will  take  them  away  and  try  to  bring 
them  up  honest,  at  least — however  poor  they  may 
be,  unless  you'll  pay  every  one  of  those  men  who 
came  here  to-night  what  you've  won  from  'em  and 
give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you  won't  ever 
again  as  long  as  you  live  gamble  in  wheat.' 

:"How  long  will  you  give  me?'  I  says. 

"Just  till  I  can  get  this  ring  off  my  hand,'  she 

says.  And  by !  you  know,  she  began  to  tug  at 

my  wedding-ring. 

"'I  promise,'  I  says,  and  I  said  it  d d  quick, 

too;  for  I  saw  my  finish  right  there. 

"Your  word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman  ?'  she  say3, 
looking  right  through  me. 

"'Yes,  my  word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman,  I'll 
never  gamble  in  wheat  again.'  And  I've  kept  it,  too, 
for  I  never  gave  my  word  of  honor  to  anyone  and 
broke  it.  I  was  glad  to  get  off  so  easy,  too;  for  the 
cold  sweat  was  breakin'  out  on  me  when  I  saw  her 
160 


A    GOTH 

tuggin'  at  that  ring.  I  was  glad  she  was  fat  that 
night." 

The  dinner  was  about  over,  and  I  must  say  it  had 
been  one  of  the  best  I  ever  ate.  He  showed  a  sur 
prising  knowledge  not  only  of  the  cookery,  but  of 
the  cooks  themselves.  At  one  time,  he  had  every 
high  official  in  the  cafe  at  the  back  of  his  chair,  and 
was  telling  them  just  how  he  wanted  a  certain  dish 
cooked. 

He  suddenly  branched  off. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  Nice?" 

I  said  I  had  seen  something  of  it  when  I  spent  a 
winter  there. 

"Oh!  I  don't  mean  that,"  he  said,  with  a  touch 
of  his  old  arrogance.  "You  saw  only  the  streets 
and  the  cafes  where  boys  go " 

"Well,  not  altogether,"  I  interrupted;  but  he 
swept  on. 

"I  mean  the  real  Nice,  the  Nice  of  men  and — of 
fools,"  he  added.  "You  come  with  me,  and  I'll 
show  you." 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  wife,  "my  old 
friend  wants  me  to  show  him  a  little  of  Nice,  so  I 
161 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

am  going  out  with  him  for  a  little  while.  Don't  be 
disturbed  about  me  if  I  should  be  out  late." 

"Well,  I'll  try  not;  but  don't  be  out  too  late,  dear," 
she  said,  with  a  look  of  idolatry  at  him  and  of  some 
misgiving  at  me. 

It  was  just  then  that  young  Newman,  in  pearl 
shirt-studs,  monocle  and  frizzled  mustache,  passed 
us  with  his  beautiful  companion,  all  glittering  in 
pearls  and  diamonds.  As  I  stood  face  to  face  with 
him,  I  bowed  and  he  barely  lowered  his  eyelids; 
but  he  bowed  to  my  friend,  and  I  thought  half- 
paused  to  bow  to  his  wife.  But  if  he  had  this  idea, 
he  thought  better  of  it;  for  Dorman  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eye,  with  a  sudden  contraction  of 
his  own  that  made  him  look  dangerous.  His  return 
to  Newman's  "Bon  soir,  m'sieur"  was  a  grunt  that 
sounded  as  though  it  might  burst  into  a  roar.  The 
other  passed  on  and  a  good  deal  of  his  haughty  as 
sumption  seemed  to  have  fallen  under  our  table. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Dorman. 

"Oh!  just  a  damned  little  fool  who  ought  to  be  in 
an  idiot  asylum,"  said  her  husband  easily 

A  half  hour  later,  having  dropped  his  wife  and 
162 


A    GOTH 

cousin  at  their  hotel,  his  carriage  stopped  at  a  fine 
establishment  in  the  Place  de  Messina,  and  a  minute 
later  we  climbed  the  great  marble  stairway,  and, 
having  left  our  coats  in  the  hands  of  an  attendant 
whom  my  friend  called,  "Emil,"  he  ushered  me  into 
the  great  apartments  of  the  club,  a  miracle  of  gild 
ing  and  marble  and  frescoes,  resembling  an  old 
Venetian  palace. 

His  entrance  created  what  might  without  exag 
geration  be  called  a  sensation.  Perhaps,  two  hun 
dred  or  more  men  and  nearly  as  many  women  were 
present,  seated  or  standing  about  the  tables  where 
the  regular  game  was  going  on.  At  the  mention  of 
my  friend's  name,  however,  there  was  a  stir  all 
through  the  room,  and  nearly  every  eye  was  turned 
on  him,  while  a  good  many  of  the  habitues  greeted 
him,  and  gathered  around  him.  He  was  evidently  a 
man  of  consequence  among  them,  and  to  my  surprise 
he  spoke  French,  if  riot  well,  at  least  with  great 
fluency,  never  hesitating  a  moment  or  staggering  at 
any  rule  of  grammar.  Even  the  stony  faces  of  the 
croupiers  changed  and  took  on  something  of  a  hu 
man  expression  as  he  greeted  them  in  hearty,  if 
163 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

execrable  French :  "Eh!bien — braves  ga^ons;  com 
ment  va  ^a  c'longtemps  ?  Tres  bien?  Ah!  bien." 

Then  in  English  to  me,  over  his  shoulder,  "I'll 
show  these  Frenchmen  a  thing  or  two  in  a  few 
jiinutes.  You  watch.  I'll  rattle  'em,  till  they  look 
like  old  Step.  Hopkins's  signature  to  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence."  And  without  further  ado, 
he  made  his  way  to  the  big  baccarat  table,  and  after 
a  few  minutes,  took  the  banker's  seat.  He  pulled 
out  a  wad  of  thousand-franc  notes,  which  showed 
that  his  promise  to  Mary  had  been  given  a  liberal 
construction  and  that  he  had  come  prepared  for  a 
big  game.  The  stolid  face  of  the  croupier  opposite 
actually  looked  interested. 

From  the  start,  the  luck  was  against  him,  but  the 
loser  only  grew  the  cheerier,  and  began  to  jolly  his 
opponents  to  raise  the  bets.  They  soon  became  so 
large  and  his  losses  were  so  constant,  that  many  who 
had  at  first  held  back,  began  to  edge  into  the  game, 
betting  on  one  side  or  the  other,  and  soon  the  other 
tables  were  deserted. 

I  confess,  that  as  he  sat  there  with  his  solid  bulk, 
his  ruddy  face  and  his  cheerful  air,  his  hat  on  the 
164 


A   GOTH 

back  of  his  round  head,  a  big  black  cigar  in  his 
mouth,  I  could  not  but  feel  that  he  was  at  least  a 
full-blooded  man;  and  as  the  thousands  passed 
from  his  hands,  I  was  aghast.  His  credit,  however, 
seemed  better  than  his  luck;  for,  as  often  as  he 
nodded  to  the  money-changer  in  his  cage  for  more 
cash,  the  checks  were  furnished — so  far  as  I  could 
see  without  the  least  reckoning,  though,  of  course,  a 
strict  account  was  kept.  He  seemed  to  be  making 
everyone  rich,  when  luck,  with  its  usual  inconsis 
tency,  shifted.  A  few  of  the  most  noted  high- 
players  in  France  had  come  into  the  game.  Bets 
that  would  have  staggered  Mary's  confidence  were 
being  made  on  the  turn  of  a  card,  and  soon  my 
friend  was  recouping  himself  from  the  most  re 
doubted  gamesters  in  Nice.  As  he  had  borne  him 
self  gallantly  in  his  reverses,  so  now  he  began  ac 
tually  to  be  modest.  He  became  more  polite  than 
I  had  ever  seen  him,  his  serene  blue  eyes  softened 
and  his  manner  grew  almost  polished.  One  of 

his  opponents,  a  well-known   plunger,  Baron  , 

after  a  persistent  run  of  bad  luck,  pushed  back  his 

chair  and  bowed  to  him  grandly;    my  friend  scrib- 

165 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

bled  something  on  a  card,  and,  with  a  bow  which  I 
would  not  have  given  him  credit  for,  handed  it  to  the 
banker  at  his  back.  Five  minutes  later,  the  Baron, 
with  a  nod  and  smile  to  him,  resumed  his  seat  and  the 
deal  began  again,  to  end  in  the  same  way.  Dorman  had 
scribbled  him  a  friendly  note,  asking  permission  to 
act  as  his  banker  for  two  hundred  thousand  francs. 
It  was  just  then  that  young  Newman  entered  the 
apartment,  and  with  a  word  to  his  gay  companion, 
came  up  to  the  table.  I  saw  my  friend's  face  change, 
and,  following  his  glance,  knew  the  cause.  The 
young  man  made  his  way  to  the  table,  with  a  slow, 
affected  saunter,  and  insinuated  his  approach  through 
the  crowd,  his  monocle  in  his  eye,  a  set  simper  on 
his  face,  exchanging  bows  with  his  acquaintances, 
who  stared  at  him  with  half-amusement.  As  he 
approached  the  table,  he  made  some  observation 
over  his  shoulder  to  his  companion,  which  caused 
a  titter  among  those  nearest  him.  I  did  not  hear, 
or  at  least,  I  did  not  understand,  but  William's  face 
hardened  just  a  trifle,  and  when  Newman  spoke  to 
him,  he  barely  nodded.  It  seemed  that  he  had 
said  to  the  girl  that  if  she  would  wait  he  would 
166 


A   GOTH 

keep  his  word  and  show  her  that  the  great  banker 
was  not  so  terrible  after  all,  and  all  that  was  needed 
was  a  man  to  stand  up  to  him  to  back  him  down. 

In  a  moment  he  took  a  seat  at  the  table,  yielded 
him  by  an  unlucky  player,  and  asked  for  checks. 
My  friend  glanced  at  him. 

"I  don't  play  with  boys." 

The  other  flushed. 

"I  am  not  a  boy — I  will  show  you  as  I  have  shown 
some  others,"  he  added  in  French. 

"Oh,  well,  of  course,"  said  my  friend,  and  in  a 
few  moments  they  were  really  the  only  two  playing 
in  the  room;  the  rest  were  mere  spectators.  It  was 
a  duel  indeed.  Newman  was  a  high  player,  but 
fortune,  like  his  companion,  smiled  on  him  only  to 
betray  him.  At  first  the  luck  was  with  him,  and 
there  were  many  titters  at  Dorman's  expense,  as 
the  pile  of  checks  grew  larger  and  larger  before  the 
younger  man.  But  suddenly  the  wind  of  fortune 
veered.  My  friend's  perfect  coolness  exasperated 
the  other,  and  he  soon  began  to  plunge.  Dorman, 
with  inscrutable  eyes,  dealt  the  cards  like  clockwork, 
and  the  broad,  sword-like  paddles  lifted  the  winnings 
167 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

and  deftly  distributed  them  about  the  table,  sweep 
ing  the  major  part  into  the  pile  in  the  middle,  till 
the  banker's  net  winnings  were  up  in  the  hundreds 
of  thousands.  Suddenly  the  younger  man  threw 
his  head  back  and  said  "Banco."  A  gasp  ran 
around  the  table  and  every  other  player  drew  his 
money  back  across  the  line.  It  meant  that  Newman 
would  play  for  the  entire  stake  on  the  table.  Dor- 
man  glanced  at  him  with  a  curious  light  in  his  eyes, 
and  then  as  Newman  met  his  gaze  he  dealt  the  cards. 
Newman  hesitated,  and  Dorman's  lips  opened. 
"Withdraw."  Newman's  reply  was  to  examine  his 
cards,  and  just  as  Dorman  offered  him  a  third  card 
lay  a  trey  and  a  five  on  the  table.  Dorman,  of 
course,  had  to  keep  the  card  himself.  He  exposed 
his  hand  and  had  a  nine.  The  last  card  was  an 
ace.  Newman  almost  reeled  in  his  seat.  His  hand 
shook  as  he  took  the  glass  of  fine  champagne  which 
he  had  asked  for.  Stimulated  by  the  cognac,  he 
called  for  another  bank.  After  a  moment  of  reflec 
tion,  my  friend  took  him  up  and  again  won — the 
biggest  stake  ever  played  in  the  club.  By  this  time 
everyone  was  crowded  around,  some  on  chairs,  peer- 
168 


A   GOTH 

ing  over  the  shoulders  of  those  in  front,  the  danseuse 
paling,  even  through  her  delicate  rouge,  and  stand 
ing  frigidly  at  Newman's  back.  Newman,  by  this 
time  perfectly  wild,  insisted  upon  again  doubling  the 
bet.  My  friend  looked  at  him  with  a  warning  light 
in  his  blue  eyes,  and  I  wondered  what  he  would  do. 
Then  he  shook  his  head,  put  a  fresh  cigar  in  his 
mouth,  and  rose  slowly  from  his  chair.  The  younger 
man  turned  as  white  as  death,  and  began  to  bluster. 
My  friend  watched  him  with  amusement,  while  the 
croupier,  at  a  nod,  filled  his  silk  hat  with  the  checks. 
Then  deliberately  taking  a  handful  of  long  checks 
from  the  piled-up  hat  and  with  a  nod  of  thanks 
chucking  them  over  to  the  croupier  opposite  him, 
Dorman  picked  up  his  hat  carefully  and  pushed 
back  his  arm-chair,  suddenly  turned,  and  leaning 
over  the  end  of  the  table,  threw  the  whole  hatful 
into  the  younger  man's  face. 

"I  don't  play  with  children,"  he  said  scornfully, 
"or  if  I  do,  I  do  not  take  their  father's  money." 

He  turned  off  unconcernedly  and  slowly  made  his 
way  through  the  crowd.  As  I  followed  through  the 
throng  of  excited,  gesticulating,  chattering,  shouting 
169 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

Latins,  in  the  wake  of  the  broad-shouldered,  slow- 
moving,  full-blooded,  masterful  man  who  had  so 
astonished  them,  and  who  now  passed  through  them 
as  serene  and  unconcerned  as  though  he  were  alone 
in  one  of  the  forests  of  his  native  hills,  all  sorts  of 
expressions  came  to  my  ears.  He  was  "extraordi- 
nair,"  "prodigieux,"  "epouvantable,"  etc.  One  of 
these  struck  me  and  stuck  to  me  afterward.  A 
smallish,  dark  man,  with  sharp  black  eyes  and 
peaked  nose,  a  curled  and  tightly  waxed  mustache 
over  thin,  bloodless  lips,  piped  in  a  shrill,  fife-like 
voice,  "Mais,  il  est  un  Goth!"  And  he  was  right. 
On  the  instant  stood  revealed,  as  though  he  had 
blown  down  the  ages,  a  pure  Goth,  unchanged  in 
any  essential  since  his  fathers  had  left  their  forests 
and  through  all  obstacles,  even  through  ranks  of 
Roman  legionaries,  sword  in  hand  had  hewn  their 
way  straight  to  the  goal  of  their  desires.  He  was  a 
Goth  in  all  his  appetites  and  habits,  a  Goth  un 
changed,  unfettered.  True  to  his  instincts,  true  to 
his  traditions,  fearing  nothing,  loving  only  his  own, 
loving  and  hating  with  all  his  heart — a  Goth. 
As  he  tramped  heavily  down  the  broad  marble 
170 


A   GOTH 

steps  with  the  attendants  bowing  before  him,  I  said, 
"Well?" 

He  took  it  as  a  question. 

"D d  slow  after  the  Stock  Exchange!  Then, 

after  a  moment's  reflection:  "That  fool!  no,  not 
fool — he  doesn't  rise  to  the  dignity  of  a  fool — the 

d d  jackass!  He  is  a  disgrace  to  his  family  and 

his  country.  He  an  American!  He  ain't  even  a 
foreigner.  He's  a  counterfeit — an  empty-headed 
sham,  dam',  expatriated  jackass!  If  he  had  dared 
to  speak  to  my  wife  with  that — that  woman  on  his 
arm  I'd  have  broke  his  neck,  and  he  knew  it.  It's 
that  sort  of  Americans  that  make  me  sick!" 

He  spat  out  his  disgust. 

Next  morning  Newman  sent  a  friend  to  see  him. 
I  happened  to  call  at  the  same  time,  and  heard  the 
challenge  given.  Dorman's  reply  was:  "I  neither 
play  with  children  nor  fight  them.  Tell  him  for  me 
that  it  will  be  time  enough  for  me  to  think  about 
killing  him  when  he  pays  me  what  he  owes  me." 

As  the  second  left  the  room,  he  repeated  the  phrase 
I  had  caught  the  night  before :  "  Mais,  il  est  un  Goth ! " 
171 


LEANDER'S  LIGHT 


LEANDER'S    LIGHT 
I 

TTHEN  I  first  knew  Rock  Ledge  Harbor,  it  was 
merely  a  little  fishing  village  of  gray,  weather-beaten 
houses,  occupied  by  weather-beaten  people,  appar 
ently  almost  as  much  stranded  as  the  old  barnacle- 
plated  wreck  which  lay  in  the  small,  circular  harbor 
against  the  foundation  of  a  long-since  rotted  pier. 
There  were  two  ways  of  reaching  it,  one  by  the 
black,  broad-beamed  coaster  which  put  in  at  odd 
times  for  cord-wood  or  lumber,  and  sometimes  car 
ried  a  few  gallons  of  a  liquid  proscribed  by  the 
State  laws,  but  much  enjoyed  by  certain  of  the  citi 
zens;  and  the  other  by  the  ancient  and  rickety  two- 
horse  stage,  a  much  decayed,  dust-colored  survivor 
of  the  old  coaches  which  once  ran  on  down-East 
through  Portland,  and  bore  the  weekly  news  of  the 
outside  world.  I  chose  the  latter  conveyance,  and 
thus  found  myself  one  summer  evening,  after  a 
175 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

stately  drive  across  the  hills,  deposited,  bag  and 
baggage,  at  the  front  steps  of  the  one  hotel,  in 
appearance  much  like  an  ancient  fort,  crowning 
the  rocky  point  which  guarded  the  narrow  mouth 
of  the  glassy  river,  and  overlooking  the  placid  har 
bor  sleeping  in  a  deep  nook  under  the  fading  rose 
of  a  sunset  sky. 

I  soon  discovered  that,  far  from  the  madding 
crowd,  with  a  climate  which  in  summer  was  un 
equalled,  "The  Harbor''  was  one  of  Nature's  health- 
resorts.  The  air  had  the  pungency  of  the  pines,  the 
freshness  of  the  sea,  and  the  balminess  of  the  mead 
ows.  I  reached  there  too  late  for  the  apple-blos 
soms;  but  the  lilacs  about  the  little  white,  gray,  and 
yellow  cottages  were  still  in  bloom,  and  the  grass 
was  all  the  greener  for  the  lateness  of  the  snow 
which  had  blanketed  it  until  "the  frost  was  out  the 
ground,"  far  on  in  April. 

The  "natives,"  as  they  called  themselves,  were  a 
self-contained  race.  They  had  been  settled  there 
since  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges  planted  the  colony, 
within  a  generation  of  the  time  that  the  "President 
of  Virginia  and  Admiral  of  New  England,"  Captain 
176 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

John  Smith,  coasting  the  shores  of  North  Virginia, 
gave  his  name  to  the  rocky  islands  a  few  miles  out. 
They  felt  that  they  owned  the  place,  and  they  loved 
it;  and  they  regarded  the  outer  world  with  indiffer 
ence,  and  new-comers  like  myself  with  proper 
scorn. 

The  "stage  road"  ran  only  to  the  Harbor  from 
the  "Village,"  a  mile  inland.  Beyond  the  Harbor 
the  only  road  was  the  grassy  lane  to  the  "North 
Farm,"  half  a  mile  away.  On  this  lane,  in  a  little 
cove  between  the  rocks,  was  a  single  house,  a  little 
"piggin"  house,  the  homestead  of  old  "Simmy" 
Goodman.  It  had  been  the  home  of  the  Goodmans 
for  at  least  seven  generations,  as  the  inscriptions  on 
the  tombstones  in  the  little  square  graveyard  testi 
fied.  Once  the  narrow  peninsula,  together  with 
some  of  the  cleared,  cultivated  fields  lying  beyond, 
had  all  belonged  to  one  family;  but  when  the  divi 
sion  came,  two  generations  back,  other  children 
had  drawn  the  meadows  and  the  "cleared"  fields — 
cleared  of  rocks — and  Simmy  and  his  sister,  who 
had  taken  their  shares  together,  had  drawn  only  the 
"rock  pasture"  overlooking  the  sea,  and  the  little 
177 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

homestead  nestled  in  the  small  strip  of  cleared  land 
above  the  cove. 

"Always  'peared  like  pretty  hard  luck,"  said  my 
informant,  "Cap'n  Spile,"  a  stout  old  weather- 
beaten  seaman  who  in  his  youth  had  been  a  whaler 
and  sailed  the  Arctic  seas,  leaning  lazily  against 
the  rail  of  the  pier,  with  his  blue  eyes  on  the  lines 
of  a  sail-boat  slowly  making  her  way  up  the  quiet 
harbor.  "Th'  others  got  all  the  good  land,  and 
Simmy  and  Abby  got  nothin'  but  rocks  and  view; 
for  the  old  house  ain't  much  for  these  days.  Not 
that  anybody  ever  heared  'em  say  much  about  it. 
Abby  al'ays  liked  view,  and  Simmy  set  a  heap  o* 
store  by  the  house.  But  't  did  look  hard  when  the 
others  had  all  the  hay-land,  and  they  marryin'  and 
ehangin'  their  names,  and  Simmy  and  Abby,  the 
only  ones  with  the  name,  to  have  only  the  rocks." 

It  did  look  hard  even  to  a  new-comer. 

According  to  Captain  Spile,  however,  there  were 
some  people  of  late  who  actually  wanted  to  come 
and  buy  some  of  Simmy's  rocks,  and  his  land  was 
getting  to  be  almost  as  valuable  as  a  good  field. 
"But  Simmy  ain't  much  of  a  hand  for  sellin* 
178 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

land,"  the  Captain  added.     And  this  I  found  later 
to  be  quite  true. 

All  this  was  twenty  years  and  more  ago,  and  in 
this  time  the  little  village,  with  its  dower  of  sunshine 
and  sea  air,  had  been  discovered  by  others,  and  had 
changed  from  a  straggling  strip  of  small  houses 
huddled  under  the  elms  about  the  harbor  to  a  water 
ing-place  of  some  renown  and  expensiveness.  Old 
Simmy  himself,  however,  changed  not  a  hair.  Griz 
zled,  taciturn,  and  stolid,  he  used  to  be  always  some 
where  about  his  premises,  "consortin'  with"  his  big 
oxen,  which  he  rather  resembled  in  his  slow,  rumi 
nant  habits;  sitting  with  the  immobility  of  a  sphinx 
in  the  door  of  his  old  barn ;  or  standing  by  his  stone 
wall,  looking  out  over  the  sea  in  the  afternoon — as 
the  phrase  went,  "watching  for  Leander." 

Leander,  so  I  learned,  was  a  brother  who  had 
sailed  away  sixty  years  before,  and  had  never  been 
heard  of  again.  "But  he  ain't  quite  give  him  up 
yet,"  said  Captain  Spile.  "I  beared  him  say  my 
self,  comin'  now  forty-six  year  this  June,  that  he 
looked  for  him  every  day,  and  aluz  kept  a  light 
179 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

burnin'  for  him.  You  go  by  the  cliff- way  any  night, 
you'll  find  a  light  up-stairs  in  the  window  o'  the  sou'- 
east  room  ;  'tis  what  we  call  'Leander's  Light.' 
You  can  set  a  course  by  it  comin'  around  Western 
Point,  just  as  sure  as  you  can  by  Boon-Light  or  the 
Nubble.  I've  seen  it  burnin'  there  many  a  night 
when  he  and  Abby'd  put  out  their  own  light  soon  's 
the  supper  things  were  washed  up.  Abby's  a  right 
smart  trial  to  him  sometimes,  I  guess.  She  don't 
hold  with  it  at  all.  Says  Leander's  been  dead  and 
in — wherever  he's  goin'  to  stay  everlastingly — for 
many  a  year.  But  though  Simmy  gives  in  to  her 
in  most  things,  he  never  would  in  that;  an'  so,  I 
s'pose,  God  preventin',  that  light  '11  burn  as  long  as 
his  own  does." 

I  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Abby,  a 
little,  bent,  sharp-featured,  crippled  woman,  who  sat 
most  of  the  time  in  a  roughly  made  wheel-chair  of 
her  brother's  manufacture.  Her  tongue  was  as 
keen  as  her  eyes,  and  they  were  like  tacks.  Accord 
ing  to  report,  she  was  often  as  sharp  to  Simmy  as 
to  others ;  but,  by  Captain  Spile's  account,  he  never 
appeared  to  mind  it  any  more  than  a  large  New- 
180 


LEANDER'S    LIGHT 

foundland  dog  minds  the  barking  of  a  fife- voiced  fice. 
'Twould  drive  most  folks  crazy,"  said  the  Captain; 
"but  Simmy  he  don't  even  hear  it.  'T  is  a  right 
singular  thing  how  a  man  can  get  used  to  a  woman's 
tongue.  Now,  Job's  wife  would  'a'  worn  most  men 
out — but  Job  and  Simmy." 

I  myself  had  sometimes  wondered  if  Simmy's 
stolidity  were  not  assumed  as  a  mask  to  guard  him 
against  his  sister's  penetrating  shafts.  At  bottom 
she  idolized  him,  as  I  found  when  Mr.  Slagg,  the 
new  millionaire,  tried  to  get  hold  of  the  Goodman 
place. 

II 

IT  is  the  belief  of  some  that  the  true  serpent  en 
tered  into  Eden  when  Eve  began  to  dress  up;  and 
certain  it  is,  that  the  idea  of  conforming  to  fashion 
has  destroyed  many  a  pleasant  place  since  that  time, 
and  would  go  far  toward  destroying  Paradise  itself. 
This  to  early  summer  visitants  to  Rock  Ledge  like 
myself  was  the  curse  of  the  Harbor.  Through  the 
changes  that  took  place  among  the  summerites, 
after  the  railroad  came,  the  natives  pursued  their 
181 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

even  course  unchanged.  They  grew  fat,  many  of 
them,  on  the  pickings  of  the  new  summer  visitors, 
and  their  houses  put  on  new  paint  and  what  Miss 
Abby  called  "fancified  verandas."  But  the  people 
themselves  remained  unchanged,  unvarnished,  and 
natural.  They  looked  on  the  summer  visitors  as 
"useful  nuisances"  and  rather  amusing  barbarians. 
What  services  they  rendered  these  visitors  they 
charged  well  for;  what  pay  they  received  they  ren 
dered  good  service  for,  and  there  it  ended.  When 
Captain  Spile's  sister,  Mrs.  Rowe,  who  laundered 
the  clothes  of  a  summer  visitor,  was  approached 
with  a  complaint  about  too  much  "bluing,"  she  told 
her:  "I'll  wash  you  and  iron  you,  but  I  ain't  goin' 
to  take  your  sass;  so  you'd  better  get  some  one  else 
to  do  it."  When  Miss  Bowles,  who  answered  to 
the  name  of  "Frances,"  waited  on  the  "mealers"  at 
her  cousin  Mrs.  Steep's  boarding-house,  and  one  of 
them  called  her  "Fanny,"  she  observed  quietly,  as 
she  handed  her  the  potatoes,  "I  don't  care  to  be 
called  pet  names  by  the  boarders." 

In  fact,  they  belonged  to  the  soil,  and  were  Amer 
ican  to  the  backbone;    a  sterling  people,  like  the 
182 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

lichens  on  their  rocks,  without  much  color  till  one 
looked  close,  but  then  full  of  it. 

Ensnared  by  the  charm  of  the  region,  which  capt 
ures  most  of  those  who  set  foot  there  during  the 
witching  season  of  summer,  I  had  myself,  soon 
after  my  discovery  of  the  place,  bought  a  modest 
piece  of  old  Simmy's  rock  pasture,  though  it  was 
only  after  a  long  negotiation  and  at  a  high  figure 
that  I  secured  it,  not  to  mention  certain  conditions 
which  I  was  fain  to  accept  or  give  up  hope  of  getting 
the  land.  His  father,  it  appeared,  had  sometimes 
driven  his  cart  down  for  kelp  to  a  little  shingle- 
covered  cove  on  the  piece  I  wished,  and  Simmy  in 
sisted  that  I  must  allow  him  to  keep  a  right-of-way. 
I  explained  that  while  the  road  had  been  of  service 
when  he  used  the  land  for  farming  purposes,  his 
land  was  now  building-lots,  and  he  no  longer  needed 
it.  It  was  to  no  purpose.  I  had  to  yield  to  get  the 
land  at  all,  and,  counselled  by  Captain  Spile,  I 
yielded. 

After  weeks  of  negotiation,  all  the  conditions 
were  agreed  upon;  I  suggested  that  we  should 
draw  up  a  contract  to  stand  until  the  deed  could 
183 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

be  prepared  and  executed.    This  set  the  old  man  to 
ruminating. 

"Why,  we  understand  it,  don't  we?"  he  asked. 
"You  ain't  goin'  to  back  out,  be  ye?" 

When  the  deed  was  finally  prepared,  I  asked  him 
how  he  wanted  his  money.  He  pondered  fully  five 
minutes  before  he  spoke. 

"Well,  money 's  good  enough,  I  guess." 

"All  right;  I  can  pay  you  in  cash.  I  will  get  it 
at  the  bank.  What  denominations  of  notes  do  you 
want?" 

"What  what?" 

"What  denom — what  sized  notes?" 

Again  he  pondered. 

"Well,  ones  and  twos  will  do." 

So,  I  had  to  hand  over  more  than  $2000  in  one- 
and  two-dollar  bills,  and  count  them  out  for  him  on 
his  table.  It  required  over  an  hour.  He  handled 
and  examined  carefully  through  his  old  silver-rimmed 
spectacles  each  note  as  I  counted  it  out,  and  then 
recounted  and  examined  them  all  again. 

This  was  before  "the  new  Philistines"  came,  as 
Captain  Spile  called  them. 
184 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

The  chief  of  these,  whom  the  Captain  later  termed 
"Goliar,"  was  a  summer  visitor  by  the  name  of 
Slagg,  who  bought  of  the  Long  estate  the  fine  hill 
which  rose  behind  old  Simmy's  homestead  and  over 
looked  his  modest  house,  as  it  faced  the  sea.  We 
"cottagers"  had  heard  in  the  city  that  spring  that 
something  remarkable  was  going  on  at  the  Harbor, 
but  when  the  old  visitors  returned  in  the  summer, 
they  found  that  a  mansion,  portentous  in  size  and 
bearing,  crowned  the  lofty  knoll  back  from  the  sea, 
and  that  the  Slagg  place  wras  stretching  its  massive 
stone  walls  like  Briarean  arms  in  every  direction. 
According  to  some  reports,  it  was  the  intention  of 
the  new-comer  to  change  the  Harbor  once  for  all, 
and  bring  it  fully  abreast  of  the  most  fashionable 
watering-place  on  the  coast. 

It  was  even  said  that  Mr.  Slagg,  the  new  cottager, 
had  offered  Simmy  a  fabulous  price  for  his  home 
stead,  which  lay  between  him  and  the  sea,  using  the 
magic  name  of  syndicate,  and  that  the  offer  had 
been  refused.  I  inquired  of  Simmy  as  to  this,  and 
he  corroborated  it  in  his  quiet  way. 

"Well,  somebody  did  say  sump'n'  about  it, 
185 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

but  I  told  them  that  I  didn't  keer  to  sell  any 
more.' 

I  had  heard  from  Captain  Spile  at  the  pier  that 
Simmy  had  said  he  didn't  care  about  syndicates: 
they  were  "too  much  like  a  cuttle-fish";  also  that 
Slagg  had  said  he'd  get  the  place  yet. 

However  this  was,  the  preparations  of  the  new 
magnate  went  on  amazingly.  It  was  rumored  that 
he  was  going  to  spend  a  great  sum  on  his  new  place, 
and  the  outward  and  visible  signs  betokened  that  at 
least  his  expenditures  would  be  lavish.  Extensive 
purchases  of  land  were  made.  The  solid  rock  was 
blasted  out  for  gardens  and  courts,  and  everything 
proposed  was  on  a  scale  of  magnificence  hitherto 
undreamed  of  in  that  quiet  region.  There  was  even 
talk  of  his  building  a  great  sea-wall,  so  as  to  have  a 
harbor  for  his  yacht  and  for  boats  that  usually  seek 
the  companionship  of  such  craft.  His  stables  were 
on  an  equally  elaborate  scale.  He  was  credibly  re 
ported  to  have  forty  horses.  Large  trees  were  trans 
planted  and  put  in  spots  that  cut  off  the  view,  and 
the  curious  thing  was  that  the  stable  was  located  in 
quite  as  prominent  a  position  as  the  mansion.  A 
186 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

protest  from  neighbors,  that  the  stable  was  offen 
sively  near  their  houses  and  interfered  with  their 
view,  met  with  the  undeniable  statement  that  it  was 
no  more  prominent  from  their  houses  than  from  his, 
and  that  he  did  not  object  to  it. 

To  no  one  was  the  change  more  disturbing 
than  to  the  occupants  of  the  little  piggin  house 
just  under  the  front  wall  of  the  grounds  of  the 
new  cottage.  The  heavy  hauling  upon  the  roads 
had  destroyed  the  pathway;  the  teams  stood  in 
the  road  and  broke  old  Simmy's  fence.  But  the 
real  worry  lay  deeper  than  this.  The  new  build 
ings  overlooking  them  not  only  destroyed  their 
privacy,  but  cut  off  their  view  of  the  rising  hills 
to  the  westward  with  the  flaming  sunset-skies  above 
them. 

I  observed  on  my  return  that  summer  that  old 
Simmy  had  shifted  his  seat  from  the  big  chopping- 
block  in  the  afternoon  sun,  where  he  had  always 
been  used  to  sit,  and  sat  around  the  corner  of  his 
house;  and  that  Miss  Abby  now  had  him  roll  her 
chair  out  on  the  front  veranda,  instead  of  basking 
in  the  sunny  angle  to  the  westward,  where  she  used 
187 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

to  mend  old  Simmy's  clothes.  I  never  heard  them 
explain  the  change,  but  once  having  heard  from 
Captain  Spile  that  "Abby  was  takin'  on  mightily 
about  cuttin'  off  her  view,"  I  stopped  on  my  way  up 
the  lane  and  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  the  new 
mansion. 

"Tears  to  me,"  she  said,  "like  they  were 
takin'  one  of  God's  landscapes  and  makin'  a 
painted  picture  of  it.  But  it's  none  of  my  busi 
ness.  I  suppose  he's  tryin'  to  forge  something  up 
there."  She  went  on  sewing  with  a  surer  stick  of 
the  needle. 

Mr.  Slagg,  report  said,  had  begun  at  an  anvil, 
and  by  keeping  on  hammering  had  amassed  a 
large  fortune.  His  hammering,  however,  had  of 
late  years  consisted  of  hammering  the  market, 
and  his  latest  deal,  by  which  he  had  "realized" 
— so  the  phrase  went — millions  of  dollars,  was 
regarded  by  many  well-informed  men  as  some 
thing  rather  close  to  robbery.  In  fact,  a  rumor 
had  somehow  gotten  abroad  that  bogus  reports 
had  been  issued.  So,  Miss  Abby's  innuendo  had 
a  double  edge. 

188 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

III 

WHATEVER  the  fact  was  as  to  this,  Slagg  was  one 
of  the  newly  rich  city-men  who  had  sprung  up  like 
weeds  from  the  ruin  they  had  helped  to  make,  and  as 
he  had  only  one  aim — money, — so  now  he  thought 
that  money  would  accomplish  anything.  He  looked 
like  one  of  his  iron  pigs,  a  stout,  roundish,  oblong, 
heavy  body  on  short  legs;  a  rough,  rather  uncouth 
face  in  which  glinted  small,  keen  eyes;  a  big  nose; 
and  a  coarse  mouth  above  a  strong  chin.  He  was 
not  lacking  in  humor  or  in  good  temper,  but  he 
lacked  most  things  that  they  usually  accompany. 
He  boldly  announced  that  he  purposed  to  have  every 
thing  that  money  could  buy,  and  his  conviction  that 
"money  would  buy  anything  and  everything." 

The  first  shock  to  this  view  came  from  old  Simmy. 
When  Slagg  firs't  bought  and  laid  out  his  place,  he 
tried  to  buy  old  Simmy's  little  homestead,  which  any 
one  who  had  been  to  Rock  Ledge  a  summer  well  knew 
old  Simmy  would  not  sell,  and  in  his  first  interview 
with  the  old  man  he  sealed  his  fate,  even  if  he  might 
otherwise  have  had  a  chance.  After  the  agent  he 
189 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

had  sent  to  sound  the  old  fellow  had  failed,  he  him 
self  went  to  him,  and  when  the  high  price  he  offered 
failed  to  move  him,  he  tried  to  scare  him  with  a 
threat  of  having  his  taxes  raised.  It  was  a  threat 
that  he  had  often  worked  successfully  in  his  career, 
but  this  time  he  did  not  know  his  man.  The  old 
fellow  shut  up  like  one  of  the  brown  sea-urchins  on 
the  rocks  below  his  house.  Still,  feeling  sure  of  his 
method,  Slagg  went  on  building,  confident  that  he 
would  in  time  be  able,  as  he  said,  "to  squeeze  the  old 
man  out,"  and  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  plan. 

Since  the  first  moment  he  stood  on  his  imposing 
front  porch,  he  knew  he  must  get  rid  of  his  unwished- 
for  neighbor,  or  lose  much  of  that  for  which  he  had 
striven.  His  front  view  commanded,  instead  of  the 
blue  sea  with  the  surf  breaking  on  the  rocks  and 
curving  on  the  beach  below,  only  old  Simmy's  little 
piggin  house  and  bare  chicken-yard.  He  once  more 
made  an  offer,  which  he  felt  sure  would  be  accepted, 
to  Captain  Spile,  who  expressed  his  doubts  whether 
the  old  man  would  consider  it.  Slagg  swore. 

"Why,  he'll  jump  at  it  like  a  dog — all  that  money, 
and  he  a  Yankee." 

190 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

"He  don't  want  money,"  said  the  captain,  leaning 
over  the  rail  of  the  pier. 

"Don't  he!     Everybody  wants  money,," 

"Well,  most  folks  do;  but  old  Simmy's  got  more 
now  than  he  knows  what  to  do  with.  He  don't  want 
any  more." 

"There  ain't  a  man  in  the  world  't  don't  want 
more,"  asserted  Slagg,  with  conviction.  "I  know 
'em.  Ain't  a  man  in  New  York  won't  sell  his  soul 
for  money.  I  know  'em.  I  wish  you'd  go  and  see 
him  for  me." 

"Wa-al,  I'm  pretty  busy,"  drawled  the  Captain. 

"Busy!     I  don't  see  that  you  do  anything." 

"I'm  busy  watchin'  the  river.  Takes  up  all  my 
time,  pretty  much,  watchin'  it  fill  and  empty.  It 
just  fills  up  to  empty  again,  like  some  folks;  but 
some  folks  don't  even  know  when  they're  full." 

Slagg  did  not  quite  take  in  the  old  seaman's 
apothegm,  but  he  went  off  growling  about  "getting 
his  way  yet."  He  had  not  got  far  when  he  turned 
back  and  asked  me  to  dine  with  him,  an  invitation 
which  I  declined.  As  he  walked  away  the  old  Cap 
tain  followed  him  with  his  deep,  clear  eyes. 
191 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

"What  does  he  want  to  pay  that  money  for?  He 
owns  the  world  now,  don't  he  ?" 

And  as  I  followed  his  glance,  I  could  but 
acknowledge  the  fact. 

"You  city  folks  Ve  got  a  comical  way  of  swapping 
victuals,"  he  observed. 

I  nodded  my  acquiescence. 

"Now,  if  I  don't  like  a  man,  I  don't  like  him;  and 
if  I  don't  like  him,  I  ain't  goin'  to  ask  him  to  eat 
with  me,  and  I  surely  ain't  goin'  to  eat  with  him." 

I  agreed  with  him  that  there  were  a  good  many 
points  of  difference  between  him  and  the  people  he 
mentioned,  and  when  he  casually  observed  that  his 
wife  had  a  "fresh  bakin'  of  doughnuts"  that  day,  I 
was  duly  appreciative  of  the  compliment,  and  ac 
cepted  his  invitation. 

Slagg  did  not  know  old  Simmy.  And  when  his 
offers  of  more  and  more  for  the  little  place  were  met 
with  the  same  stolid  reply:  "Don't  keer  to  sell,"  he 
felt  satisfied  from  his  knowledge  of  men  that  this 
was  only  a  clever  ruse  to  "rob  him,"  as  he  expressed 
it.  He  therefore  sought  an  interview  with  old  Simmy 
at  which  I  happened  to  be  present.  Slagg  was 
192 


LEANDER'S    LIGHT 

shrewd,  plausible,  and  persistent.  Old  Simmy  was 
dull,  calm,  and  sphinx-like.  He  met  every  proposi 
tion  with  silence  or  the  simple  statement:  "Don't 
believe  I  keer  to  sell." 

"Well,  I  guess  you'll  sell  if  you  get  a  big  enough 
offer?"  said  Slagg.  "I'd  sell  anything  I've  got  if  a 
man — " 

"Mebbe  you  would,"  said  Simmy  slowly. 

"Yes,  and  so  would  you."  And  then  Slagg,  either 
to  try  him,  or  in  earnest,  offered  him  an  exchange 
which  was  obviously  to  Simmy's  pecuniary  advan 
tage. 

"Don't  believe  I  keer  to  change." 

"Well,  I  will  build  you  a  new  house,  and  make 
it  look  like  something  instead  of  that  old  rattle 
trap." 

The  old  fellow  turned  and  gazed  silently  at  his 
bare,  little  house,  and  Slagg  brightened. 

"Why,  it's  a  blot  on  the  place." 

Old  Simmy,  with  his  eyes  half-vacantly  on  the 
house,  wiped  his  horny  hand  across  his  rough  face 
and  kept  silence. 

"You  won't  do  that!"  exclaimed  Slagg. 
193 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

Simmy  gave  no  further  sign,  and  Slagg's  patience 
suddenly  gave  out.  "Well,  I'm  done  with  you;  I've 
come  here  and  doubled  the  value  of  your  property, 
and  offered  you  five  times  what  it's  worth,  and  you 
won't  do  anything.  I  tell  you  now,  I'll  never  make 
you  another  offer." 

"That's  go-od,"  said  Simmy,  quietly. 

"You  think  it's  'good,'  do  you?  Well,  you 
haven't  done  with  me  yet.  Why,  you  block  the  way 
of  progress  in  this  whole  town — you  block  Civiliza 
tion!" 

"Be  you  Civilization?"  asked  the  old  man  so 
quietly  that  for  a  moment  Slagg  was  nonplussed. 
Then  he  went  off  growling  and  threatening;  but 
that  evening  old  Simmy's  reply  was  known  about 
the  pier. 

IV 

IT  was  the  next  spring,  after  Slagg's  new  house 
was  finished,  that  old  Simmy's  sister,  Abby,  died.  I 
did  not  learn  of  it  until  I  got  back  in  the  summer  and 
fell  in  with  Captain  Spile  at  the  pier.  It  was  like 
picking  up  a  newspaper-file  after  a  long  absence. 
194 


LEANDER'S    LIGHT 

"Mr.  Slagg  he's  back,  too,"  he  said,  "in  his 
Chromo  Castle." 

"Still  wants  Simmy's  place,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  yes,  he  wants  it — bad — and  he'll  keep  on 
wantin'  it." 

"But  now  old  Miss  Abby's  dead—?" 

"He'll  never  git  it  now.  I  told  him  long  ago  he'd 
never  git  it,  anyhow;  but  he  thought  he  knew  bet 
ter.  Abby  sort  o'  mistrusted  Simmy  might  git  lone 
some  and  git  out;  but — !"  The  Captain's  eyes 
blinked  with  deep  satisfaction. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  her?" 

"Worry,  Simmy  says — havin'  her  view  cut  off — 
an'  her  chickens,  an'  all.  You  see,  she'd  always 
been  feeble,  and  I  think  she  didn't  like  the  idea. 
But  she  went  kind  o'  unlooked-for  when  she  did  go — 
't  wa'n't  even  the  time  of  tide  for  her  to  go.  She 
had  lasted  all  winter,  and  had  kept  the  house,  and 
when  spring  come,  Simmy  thought  't  would  do  her 
good  to  git  her  out-doors ;  so  he  wrapped  her  up  and 
set  her  in  the  sun,  and  I  think  she  took  cold.  But 
he  says  't  was  Slagg's  house,  and  worry  for  fear  he'd 
sell  her  out:  an'  she  told  him  she  was  cold,  that 
195 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

Slagg  would  soon  own  everything  and  force  'em  out 
like  he  said;  and,  mebbe,  after  she  was  gone  and 
buried,  he  would  be  like  Naboth — an'  wouldn't  be 
able  to  hold  out  against  him.  And  next  mornin'  she 
was  dead." 

"Well— Simmy  ?— I'll  go  an'  see  him.  What  did 
he  say?" 

The  Captain  was  slowly  whittling  the  pier  rail 
beside  him;  so  he  replied  with  deliberation. 

"Well,  Simmy,  you  know,  is  a  right  religious  man 
now, — he's  tolerable  old, — over  eighty;  though  he 
wa'n't  as  much  older  than  Abby  as  she  said  by  ten 
years, — but  when  he  was  young  he  used  to  be  a 
pretty  hard  blasphemer,  an'  fighter,  too,  I  remember; 
an'  I  judge  he'll  hold  out;  that  Slagg  won't  git  that 
house,  not  in  Simmy's  time.  Naboth's  a  pretty  good 
hand  at  standin'  Ahab  off  when  he  wants  to. 

"Money's  a  curious  thing,  ain't  it?"  he  pro 
ceeded. 

"Looks  like  some  folks  ain't  strong  enough  to 

stand  the  strain — they  git  warped  like  green  timber 

in  a  boat  when  you  lay  her  up,  now  don't  they? 

Now,  our  friend  Slagg,  'thout  his  money,  he  wouldn't 

106 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

be  much  more  account  than  a  chip  in  the  porrich, 
an'  he  ain't  so  very  much  account  with  it." 

Next  time  I  talked  with  Simmy,  the  old  man  gave 
me  a  sudden  insight  into  his  heart. 

"He  wa-ants  me  to  sell  my  haouse,"  he  drawled 
in  his  deep  bass;  "says  he'd  sell  anything  he  has. 
Wa-al,  mebbe,  he  would.  Tha-at  haouse  was  built 
so  long  ago  they  ain't  hardly  a  plank  of  the  old 
haouse  left — nothin'  but  the  framin'  and  chimney, 
an'  not  too  much  o'  that.  My  gran'mother — I  mean 
my  father's  gran'mother — was  in  that  haouse  by 
herself  the  las'  time  the  Injuns  come  down  here. 
'Twas  at  night,  an'  't  wa'n't  a  soul  with  her  'cept 
her  baby  and  the  dog.  Her  husband  hed  gone  away 
to  get  the  men  together  to  drive  'em  back,  because 
they  had  heard  they  was  comin';  an'  they  come  that 
night  before  they  was  lookin'  for  'em,  an'  my  gran' 
mother  she  heard  'em,  an'  she  banked  her  fire,  and 
tied  her  garter  raound  the  dog's  maouth  to  keep  him 
from  barkin',  and  set  there  in  the  dark,  and  suckled 
her  baby  to  keep  him  quiet  while  the  Injuns  praowled 
all  raound  the  haouse  and  pressed  their  noses  to  the 
winders,  lookin'  in  to  see  if  anybody  was  there;  an' 
197 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

then  when  they  had  gone,  she  slipped  aout  an'  run 
down  'long  that  wall  to  L'ander  Dunnell's  block- 
haouse  an'  give  the  alarm,  with  her  baby  in  her 
arms.  I've  beared  my  gran 'father  tell  abaout  it 
because  he  was  the  baby,  an'  he  said  if  't  hedn't 
been  for  her  the  Injuns  would  'a'  massacreed  'em 
all." 

He  pondered  for  a  little  space,  and  then  turned  to 
me. 

"I  don't  think  they'd  ought  to  try  to  drive  me 
aout,  do  you?  I  ain't  troublin'  them,  be  I?" 

My  reply  was,  I  fear,  not  wholly  printable,  but  it 
appeared  to  reassure  him. 

"An'  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  sell  out,"  he  added  calmly. 
"That  haouse  was  here  before  he  come,  an'  I  guess 
't  will  be  here  after  he  goes." 

It  was  after  this  that  a  new  course  was  adopted — 
I  will  not  say  by  Slagg,  but  by  some  of  his  people, 
and  I  think  he  could  have  stopped  it  had  he  been  so 
minded. 

Old  Simmy  found  that  the  enmity  of  his  neighbor 
was  reflected  in  sundry  annoying  ways.  Slagg,  as 
he  had  threatened,  first  set  to  work  to  have  his  taxes 
198 


LEANDER'S    LIGHT 

raised,  and  the  appraisement  was  raised,  as  was  really 
proper,  from  almost  nothing — the  old  valuation  as 
agricultural  land  to  a  valuation  still  far  below  its 
actual  value.  Next  Slagg  tried  to  get  the  high-road 
changed  so  as  to  make  it  run  through  old  Simmy's 
yard,  where  a  road  had,  no  doubt,  been  in  old 
times.  In  this  he  failed,  though  he  offered  to  grade 
it  at  his  own  expense,  and  build  a  schoolhouse  for 
the  village — an  attractive  proposal  in  this  age.  What, 
however,  worried  old  Simmy  more  than  anything  else 
was  that  when  his  chickens  strayed  across  the  road 
to  Slagg's  property  they  were  killed  by  the  latter's 
dogs  and,  Simmy  said,  by  his  men. 

The  old  man  spoke  of  it  with  a  deeper  light  burn 
ing  under  his  shaggy  brows  than  I  had  ever  seen 
there  before. 

"Them  was  Abby's  chickens,  and  I  don't  think 
he  had  ought  to  kill  'em  that  way.  He  knowed  that 
I  would  'a'  paid  him  dollar  for  dollar  for  every  grain 
or  spire  o'  grass  or — weed  they'd  destroyed,  because 
I  tolt  him  so;  leastways,  sent  him  word  I  would." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Said,  'Let  him  keep  his  d — d  chickens  aout  of 
199 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

my  graounds';  't  he'd  treated  me  lik  a  gentleman, 
an'  I  wouldn't  be  treated  so.  I  s'pose  that's  what 
he  calls  'treatin'  like  a  gentleman."3 

He  lapsed  back  into  his  habitual  apathy;  but 
after  a  moment  added :  "  Looks  like  God  must  think 
mighty  poorly  o'  riches  by  the  folks  he  gives  'em  to — 
don't  you  think  so?" 

I  told  him  that  Dean  Swift  had  thought  so. 

"He's  a  stranger  o'  mine,"  he  said. 


OLD  Simmy's  opportunity  came  sooner  than  he 
had  expected. 

The  nearest  way  to  the  beach  from  Slagg's  place 
was  across  Simmy's  grounds.  There  was  no  regular 
path  there,  but  neighbors  frequently  cut  across  the 
grass  by  his  chicken-yard  to  reach  the  "fisherman's 
walk"  on  the  shore.  Slagg's  men  began  to  make  a 
regular  path  across  there,  and  when  Simmy  put  up 
a  notice  for  strangers  to  "keep  off,"  it  was  pulled 
down — as  Simmy  believed,  by  Slagg's  people. 

It  happened  that  one  afternoon  as  I  was  crossing 
Simmy's  grounds,  Slagg  himself  came  along  with  a 
200 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

dog,  and  either  supposing  that  Simmy,  who  was 
standing  by  his  wall,  gazing  out  over  the  sea,  "look- 
in'  for  Leander,"  would  not  observe  him,  or,  if  he 
should,  would  be  indifferent  to  his  presence,  he 
walked  across  Simmy's  yard.  Unfortunately,  when 
he  was  about  half-way  across,  the  dog  caught  sight 
of  Simmy's  chickens,  and  there  was  immediate 
trouble. 

In  an  instant  the  old  man  was  upon  him;  but  he 
was  too  late  to  save  the  chicken.  He  then  turned 
upon  the  dog's  owner  and  denounced  him  for  setting 
his  dog  upon  his  fowls.  This  Slagg  stoutly  denied, 
and  said  that  he  had  called  the  dog  off.  He  offered 
to  pay  fifty  cents  for  the  chicken,  which  he  said  was 
twice  as  much  as  it  was  worth.  Simmy,  however, 
refused  it  with  scorn,  and  ordered  him  to  turn  and 
go  back  off  his  place  by  the  way  he  had  come. 

This  angered  Slagg,  and  in  a  rage  he  began  to 
curse  the  old  man,  declaring  that  he  was  glad  of  the 
chance  to  tell  him  what  he  thought  of  him  as  "an 
offensive  old  fool,  who  stood  in  everybody's  way." 

"I  am  goin'  to  stand  in  your  way  this  time,  an' 
keep  you  from  crossin'  my  yard  an'  killin'  Abby's 
201 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

chickens,  said  Sammy.  Now  go  back  where  you 
come  from."  He  reached  out  his  long  arm  and 
pointed  down  the  hill. 

"I  will  go  off  your  place,  but  I  will  not  go  back,'* 
said  Slagg.  "Now  get  out  of  my  way." 

"Yes,  you  will,  too,"  drawled  Simmy.  "You  will 
go  back."  And  he  squared  himself  before  the 
younger  man. 

In  a  sudden  rage,  Slagg  caught  him  by  his  coat 
and  jerked  him  out  of  the  way.  The  next  second  he 
was  sprawling  flat  on  his  back  on  the  grass. 

I  had  no  idea  that  the  old  man  could  be  so  quick 
or  could  strike  such  a  blow.  He  appeared  suddenly 
transformed.  Taking  a  step  forward,  he  stood 
over  his  prostrate  antagonist  and  looked  down  on 
him. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  of  course,  I  am  hurt,"  growled  the  other. 
"What  did  you  hit  me  for  that  way?" 

"Becuz  you  killed  Abby's  chickens  an'  tore  my 
coat.  Now  git  up  an'  go  back  the  way  you  come, 
like  I  told  you." 

Slagg  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  scowling  at  the  old 
202 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

man  standing  stolidly  before  him  and,  turning,  went 
back  down  the  path,  growling  his  threats  of  ven 
geance. 

At  the  trial  afterward,  the  testimony  was  conflict 
ing.  Old  Simmy  still  believed  and  testified  that 
Slagg  set  the  dog  on  the  chicken  that  he  killed. 
Slagg  still  stoutly  denied  this,  and  swore  that  he  had 
called  the  dog  off,  and  offered  to  pay  for  the  fowl 
more  than  it  was  worth.  The  suit,  however,  was 
not  for  the  chicken,  but  for  something  more.  Old 
Simmy,  tall,  heavy,  and  dull-eyed,  was  the  accused, 
and  Slagg,  with  a  black  eye  and  bruised  nose,  was 
the  prosecutor. 

Old  Simmy  partly  admitted  the  charge  of  assault, 
but  pleaded  provocation.  The  Court  wisely  let  him 
tell  his  story  in  his  own  way,  and  all  the  facts  came 
out,  including  the  trouble  about  his  property.  He 
admitted  that  he  had  accused  Slagg  of  killing  his 
chickens,  and  he  still  accused  him;  also  that  he  had 
told  him  that  he  should  not  pass  through  his  place, 
and  stated  that  Slagg  had  cursed  him. 

"And  what  did  you  do  then?"  he  was  asked. 

"I  didn't  do  nothin'  right  then,"  the  old  man 
203 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

drawled.  "I  just  stood  in  his  way  an'  told  him  he 
mus'  go  back." 

"And  then?" 

"Then?  Then  he  took  hold  of  me  and  tore  my 
old  coat."  He  looked  down  at  it. 

"Was  that  the  same  coat  you  have  on  now?" 
asked  Slagg's  lawyer. 

"Yes." 

The  lawyer  approached  him  and  examined  the 
coat  closely. 

"Wasn't  it  a  very  old  coat?" 

"Yes,  a  mite  old." 

"How  old?" 

"Wa-all,  I  don't  know  rightly  just  haow  old. 
If  Abby  was  livin',  she  could  tell  you.  She  made 
it." 

The  lawyer  edged  off  the  dangerous  ground. 

"Well,  how  did  you  feel  when  he  put  his 
hands  on  you — as  you  say?  Didn't  you  feel  very 
angry?" 

Old  Simmy  pondered. 

"No,  I  couldn't  say  as  I  did.    I  just  felt  sort  o* 


204 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

"What!  You  knock  a  man  down  and  don't  feel 
angry?" 

"No;  just  sort  of  tingly  all  over,  as  I  hadn't  felt 
in  over  fifty  years."  His  deep  eyes  gave  a  sudden 
glint  of  enjoyment,  and  he  straightened  perceptibly, 
as  the  crowd  laughed. 

"But  you  knocked  him  down?" 

"I  hit  him." 

"And  what  did  he  do  then?" 

"Fell  down— flat." 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"I  told  him  to  get  up  an*  go  back  where  he  had 
come  from,  like  I  told  him  to  do." 

"And  that  was  all  that  occurred?" 

"No;  he  got  up  and  went." 

The  manifest  enjoyment  of  the  crowd  that  packed 
the  little  court-room,  was  a  proof  of  the  popular 
feeling,  and  the  law  was  clearly  on  old  Simmy's  side. 
Thus,  the  judgment  was  a  just  one. 

Slagg,  with  his  bulldog  chin  and  his  belief  in  the 
power  of  money,  held  on  for  some  time. 

"He  can't  live  always,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  have  it 
205 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 
yet.     His  heirs  will  have  more  sense  than  that  old 
fool." 

He  was  right  about  the  old  man.  He  did  not  hold 
on  long.  When  we  returned  the  following  summer, 
one  of  the  first  things  Captain  Spile  said  to  me  down 
on  the  pier  was,  "Well,  Leander's  Light's  out." 

"Yes,  I  heard  old  Simmy  was  dead." 

"Yes,  he  died  trying  to  light  it.  The  way  we  knew 
he  was  gone,  Jesse  Moulton's  son  was  comin'  in 
roun'  Western  Point  one  night  an'  noticed  the  light 
was  out  and  give  the  alarm,  and  we  found  him  settin' 
in  his  big  chair,  speechless,  with  the  lamp-chimney 
broke  on  the  floor  by  him.  He  must  have  dropped 
it  when  he  had  the  stroke." 

"I  suppose  'Ahab'  will  get  the  place  now?"  I 
hazarded. 

The  captain's  face  wore  a  pleased  look  as  he  shook 
his  head. 

"No;  Simmy's  left  it  to  the  town— to  keep." 

When  Slagg  heard  that  old  Simmy  had  died,  he 
moved  at  once.     But,  as  Captain  Spile  stated,  the 
old  fellow  had  left  his  homestead  and  property  to 
206 


LEANDER'S   LIGHT 

the  town  for  a  hospital  or  a  school,  and  provided  that 
it  should  belong  to  the  town  so  long  as  his  old  house, 
or  one  as  near  like  it  as  possible,  should  be  kept 
standing. 

Thus,  as  Simmy  prophesied,  while  Slagg  has 
moved  on  to  other  pastures,  the  old  house  still  stands. 
And  thus,  "Leander's  Light"  burns  on. 


207 


MY  FRIEND  THE  DOCTOR 


MY    FRIEND    THE    DOCTOR 


first  visit  to  Rock  Ledge,  dozing  under  its 
big  elms  by  the  gray  Atlantic,  and  my  acquaintance 
with  "Mrs.  Dow's  Jane"  were  due  to  John  Graeme: 
"The  Doctor,"  as  we  used  to  call  him  at  college.  I 
had  received  a  telegram  one  day  saying,  "  Come  with 
me  for  a  loaf  on  the  Maine  Coast,"  and  I  had  "shut 
up  shop"  and  joined  him. 

The  Doctor  was  in  some  respects  the  queerest 
man  of  our  time  at  college.  He  was,  perhaps,  not 
exactly  the  first  man  there,  but  he  was  easily  the  first 
man  of  our  set.  Other  "Meds"  were  called  Doctor; 
but  whenever  "The  Doctor"  was  mentioned  it  was 
always  understood  that  it  was  John  Graeme.  He 
was  not  especially  brilliant,  but  he  had  a  divine  en 
thusiasm,  absolute  courage,  and  eyes  never  to  be 
forgotten.  An  old  doctor  who  knew  him  said  of  him 
once,  "That  young  man  will  either  be  a  quack  or  a 
leading  physician."  "The  two  are  often  the  same," 
said  John  Graeme. 

211 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

So,  it  was  no  surprise  to  us  to  find  him  now,  ten 
years  later,  already  one  of  the  big  doctors,  and  still 
with  a  fiery  scorn  for  the  fashionable  element.  He  had 
the  marks  of  independence:  a  broad  brow,  a  wide, 
well-formed  mouth,  a  big  nose  and  a  firm  jaw.  Added 
to  these  was  a  voice  always  clear,  and,  when  tender, 
as  sweet  as  a  harp,  and  a  manner  which  was  simple, 
frank,  and,  without  the  least  formality,  with  some 
thing  of  distinction  in  it.  But  more  than  these,  I 
think  the  chief  ground  of  John  Graeme's  position  at 
college  was  that  he  thought  for  himself,  which  few 
of  us  did  then,  or,  perhaps,  do  now  and,  so  thinking, 
he  presented  everything  just  as  he  saw  it.  More 
over,  he  felt  with  every  living  creature. 

Whilst  the  rest  of  us  studied  as  a  task;  crammed 
for  examination  and  learned  like  parrots,  "The  Doc 
tor"  studied  as  he  liked,  read  for  his  own  interest  the 
text  books  which  his  fellow  students  tried  to  cram, 
and  before  he  left  college,  whether  he  was  discussing 
a  dog-fight,  a  love  affair,  or  the  processes  of  a  bone, 
we  sat  and  listened  to  him  because  he  threw  light  on 
it.  In  his  last  year  he  moved  out  of  college  and  lived 
in  "Dingy  Bottom,"  one  of  the  worst  sections  of  the 


MY    FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

town,  in  the  worst  street  of  that  section,  in  a  room 
over  a  dog-fancier's.  It  was  set  down  merely  to  his 
idiosyncrasy,  and  his  paper  on  "The  Digestion  of 
Young  Puppies,"  was  held  by  the  faculty  to  be 
frivolous.  He  said  he  wrote  of  that  because  he  had 
been  raising  puppies  all  his  life  and  knew  more  about 
them  than  about  babies.  One  of  the  faculty  said 
he'd  better  become  a  "Vet,"  as  his  taste  evidently 
lay  that  way,  but  the  Doctor  replied  that  he  was 
going  to  practise  on  children,  not  on  professors. 

Dr.  John  has  said  since  that  this  year  among  the 
puppies  and  babies  of  "Dingy  Bottom  "  was,  with  one 
other  experience,  worth  all  the  rest  of  his  college 
course. 

The  other  experience  was  this:  "The  Doctor" 
disappeared  from  public  view  for  several  days;  he 
was  not  to  be  found  at  his  room,  and  when  he  re 
appeared,  his  head  was  shaved  as  close  as  a  prize 
fighter's.  Some  said  he  had  been  on  a  spree;  some 
said  he  had  shaved  his  head  as  Demosthenes  shaved 
his.  "The  Doctor"  flushed  a  little,  grinned  and 
showed  his  big,  white  teeth.  It  turned  out  after 
wards  that  diphtheria  of  a  malignant  type  had  broken 
213 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

out  in  his  suburb,  and  he  had  been  nursing  a  family 
of  poor  children.  When  the  Professor  declared  in 
class  a  few  days  later  that  a  member  of  the  class  had 
been  discovered  to  have  been  exposing  himself  to  a 
virulent  disease  in  a  very  reckless  and  foolhardy 
manner,  there  was  a  rustle  all  down  the  benches, 
and  all  eyes  were  turned  on  "The  Doctor."  John 
Graeme  rose  all  his  long  length. 

"Am  I  the  person  referred  to  ?"  he  asked,  his  face 
at  first  white,  then  red,  his  voice  trembling  a  little. 

"Small-pox ! "  it  was  whispered,  and  we  edged  away. 

"You  are,"  declared  the  stout  Professor  coldly. 
"You  had  no  right  to  go  into  a  contagious  case,  and 
come  back  among  the  other  students.  You  might 
have  broken  up  the  college." 

"You  have  been  misinformed." 

The  Professor  frowned.     "  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"You  have  been  misinformed;  I  have  not  ex 
posed  myself  recklessly.  I  have  attended  a  few 
diphtheria  cases,  but  I  have  taken  every  precaution 
against  exposing  anyone  else.  I  refer  you  to  Dr. 

,  whom  I  consulted."     He  mentioned  the  name 

of  the  biggest  doctor  in  the  city,  and  sat  down. 
214 


MY    FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

It  was  known  that  evening  that  John  Graeme  had 
not  only  attended  the  cases,  but  had  performed  an 
operation  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  which,  the 
Doctor  stated,  alone  saved  the  child's  life. 

From  that  time  Dr.  John  was  the  leading  man  in 
the  Med.  Class. 

When  we  left  college,  the  rest  of  us  settled  in  small 
places,  or  in  the  cities  in  which  we  lived.  Such  of  us 
as  were  ambitious  began  to  crawl  up  with  fear  and 
trembling;  those  who  were  not,  dropped  out  of  the 
race.  Dr.  John  went  straight  to  the  biggest  city  to 
which  his  money  would  take  him,  and  settled  in  one 
of  the  purlieus  where  he  lived  on  bread  and  cheese, 
when — as  he  said — he  could  get  cheese. 

In  a  little  while  he  got  an  appointment  in  a  Chil 
dren's  Hospital,  and  the  next  thing  we  heard,  it  was 
rumored  that  he  was  performing  difficult  operations, 
and  was  writing  papers  for  the  medical  journals 
which  were  attracting  attention.  It  was  in  one  of 
these  papers,  the  one  on  "Bland  Doctors,"  I  be 
lieve,  that  he  charged  that  while  the  investigation  of 
Medical  Science  had  advanced  it  pathologically,  it 
had  scarcely  advanced  it  therapeutically  at  all,  and 
215 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

that  many  of  the  practitioners  were  worthy  disciples 
of  Dr.  San  Grado;  that  they  were  as  much  slaves  of 
fashion  as  women  were.  This  paper  naturally  at 
tracted  attention — indeed,  so  much  attention  that  he 
lost  his  place  in  the  Children's  Hospital. 

But  when,  a  little  later,  an  epidemic  of  typhus 
fever  broke  out  in  one  of  the  most  crowded  tenement- 
house  districts  of  the  East  Side,  he  volunteered  first 
man  to  do  the  hospital  work,  a  newspaper  took  up 
his  cause,  and  he  got  back  his  position.  Soon 
afterwards  he  wrote  his  work  on  "The  Treatment  of 
Children,"  and  laid  the  foundation  of  his  fame  and 
fortune.  Practice  shortly  began  to  pour  in  on  him. 

Of  Fortune  he  was  as  scornful  as  of  Fashion;  for 
just  as  he  was  achieving  both  he  suddenly  turned 
over  his  office  and  his  practice  to  a  friend  and  left 
for  Europe,  where  he  spent  several  years  in  the 
Continental  hospitals.  Some  said  he  was  mad; 
others  that  he  had  followed  across  seas  a  young 
widow  whose  fortune  was  as  well  known  as  her 
beauty;  one  of  the  belles  in  the  ultra-fashionable  set 
of  the  city. 

When  he  returned  he  was  already  famous.  For 
216 


MY   FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

he  had  written  another  work  that  had  become  a 
standard  authority. 

All  this  by  way  of  preface  and  to  show  what  sort 
of  man  it  was  that  dragged  me  away  from  my  accus 
tomed  summer  haunts  to  the  little  sun-steeped  fishing 
village  on  the  Maine  coast,  and  plumped  me  down 
in  Mrs.  Dow's  little  gray  cottage  under  the  apple- 
trees  where  "Jane"  lived,  with  "Miss  Hazel." 

I  had  not  seen  the  Doctor  since  we  left  college 
until  I  drifted  into  his  waiting-room  one  morning  in 
the  spring,  and  not  then  until  I  had  waited  for  at 
least  a  dozen  others  to  see  him.  Most  of  these  had 
children  with  them,  and  I  observed  that  all  appeared 
somewhat  cheered  up  when  they  left  his  office. 

The  last  patient  was  a  fashionably  dressed  and 
very  handsome  woman  who  had  driven  up  to  the 
door  just  before  me  in  a  brougham  with  a  fine  pair 
of  horses  and  with  two  men  in  showy  livery  on  the 
box.  I  had  seen  her  as  she  swept  across  the  side 
walk,  and  in  the  waiting-rooms  I  had  a  good  chance 
to  observe  her.  She  had  undeniable  beauty,  and  her 
appointments  were  flawless;  almost  too  much  so,  if 
217 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

possible.  A  tall,  statuesque  creature,  well  fed,  richly 
dressed  and  manifestly  fully  conscious  of  her  attrac 
tions.  About  her  breathed  "the  unconscious  inso 
lence  of  conscious  wealth."  At  this  moment  she  wore 
a  dark  cloth  morning-suit  with  sables,  which  always 
give  an  air  of  sumptuousness  to  a  handsome  woman. 

Her  presence  caused  some  excitement  on  the  part 
of  one  or  two  of  the  ladies  who  were  present.  She 
was  evidently  known  to  them,  and  indeed  she  must 
have  been  known  to  thousands,  for  she  was  one  in  a 
thousand.  As  she  waited  her  self -consciousness 
increased. 

After  a  time  her  turn  came  and  she  was  ushered 
into  the  office.  I  heard  her  greeting,  half  rallying: 
"Well,  as  you  would  not  come  to  me  I  have  had  to 
pocket  my  pride  and  come  to  you." 

If  the  Doctor  made  any  reply  I  did  not  hear  it, 
and  I  think  he  made  none,  for  his  face,  which  I  saw 
plainly,  was  serious,  almost  to  sadness,  and  I  was 
struck  by  his  gravity. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  door  opened  again  and  he 
showed  the  lady  out  of  his  office  as  gravely  as  he  had 
admitted  her.  Her  air  of  self  complacency  had  van- 
218 


MY    FRIEND   THE    DOCTOR 

ished;  her  confident  tone  had  changed.  I  caught 
the  last  words  of  his  reply  to  her  parting  speech, 
as  she  lingered  at  the  door  which  he  held  for  her. 

"I  have  told  you  the  only  thing  that  will  help  her 
— and  the  alternative.  You  must  take  her  where  I 
directed  and  you  must  go  with  her."  He  spoke  as 
if  he  knew  that  his  command  carried  weight. 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  evidently  considering, 
while  he  waited  impassive.  Then  she  said  with  an 
accent,  part  disappointment,  part  resignation,  "Well, 
I  suppose  if  I  must,  I  must;  but  it  is  most  incon 
venient.  You  will  come  and  see  her  before  we  go  ?" 

He  bowed  and  closed  the  door,  and  then  came 
over  to  me.  "Come  in.  So  glad  to  see  you."  He 
led  the  way  into  his  office. 

As  he  closed  the  door  he  broke  out:  "These  fash 
ionable  women!    They  are  not  fit  to  have  children. 
*  Inconvenient*  when  her  child's  whole  life  is  at 
stake!" 

"Who  was  she?"  I  asked. 

"Her  name  is  Mrs.  Durer.  These  women  who 
have  not  time  to  look  after  their  children!"  He 
turned  off  with  a  growl. 

219 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

I  know  that  I  must  have  shown  surprise,  for  she 
was  one  of  the  reigning  belles  of  the  day,  and  her 
beauty  was  a  part  of  the  property  of  the  whole 
country.  Moreover,  I  had  heard  her  name  con 
nected  with  his,  when  he  had  gone  abroad  some 
years  before. 

"She  is  one  of  the  handsomest  women  I  ever  saw," 
I  observed,  tentatively. 

"Yes,  she  has  looks  enough,"  said  the  Doctor, 
dryly,  and  changed  the  subject. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  visit  to  the  Doctor  that  I 
received  one  morning  the  telegram  I  have  men 
tioned,  inviting  me  to  join  him  in  a  holiday  on  the 
Maine  coast,  an  invitation  which  I  promptly  ac 
cepted  ;  for  the  old  ties  that  bound  us  held  firmly. 

The  place  which  he  had  selected  was  a  little  village 
of  white  or  gray  cottages,  clustered  under  great  elms, 
on  a  rocky  slope  facing  south,  above  a  pretty  little 
land-locked  harbor,  just  big  enough  to  hold  the 
white-sailed  sloops  which,  after  bobbing  up  and 
down  outside,  came  in  to  sleep  like  white-winged 
water-fowl  on  its  placid  surface;  but  happily,  too 
small  for  the  big  yachts  that  slipped  by  outside  the 
220 


MY    FRIEND    THE    DOCTOR 

Ledge  which  gave  its  name  to  the  place.  Thus,  the 
life  had  been  kept  in  a  simpler  key  than  at  the  very 
fashionable  resorts  further  along  the  coast.  "The 
natives,"  as  they  called  themselves,  were  self-con 
tained  and  content  with  their  superior  knowledge, 
and  the  summer  visitors  were  as  yet  simple  in  their 
tastes,  as  they  had  need  to  be  in  that  primal  com 
munity,  where,  at  that  day,  though  now  a  change 
has  come,  the  ocean  was  regarded  by  hotel  keepers 
as  supplanting  lesser  bath-tubs. 

The  place  where  we  landed  from  the  dusty  and 
somewhat  rickety  stage,  in  the  shank  of  a  placid  Sum 
mer  afternoon,  was  not  the  fort-like  one  hotel,  frown 
ing  on  the  Point,  but  Mrs.  Dow's  gray  cottage,  amid 
a  cluster  of  big  apple-trees,  where  for  his  own  reasons, 
Doctor  John  had  chosen  to  ensconce  himself.  He 
said  it  was  because  he  liked  the  portrait  of  Cap 
tain  Dow,  a  wonderful  crayon  which  might  have 
been  made  into  a  graven  image  without  sin,  which 
hung  in  the  little  parlor.  Here  Mrs.  Dow,  a  de 
termined  woman  of  past  middle  age,  aquiline  nose 
and  temper,  ample  figure  and  firm  voice,  dispensed 
a  well-ordered  and  measured  hospitality.  For  Mrs. 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

Dow  measured  everything.  Through  her  gold  spec 
tacles  set  firmly  on  her  high  nose,  a  pair  of  keen 
eyes  measured  the  world  with  infallible  accuracy. 

Though  my  friend  declared  that  he  selected  this 
place  to  get  away  from  silly  women  and  finish  his 
book,  I  quickly  found  out  why  he  had  really  chosen 
this  quiet  corner  of  Rock  Ledge,  and  avoided  the 
hotel  with  its  commanding  position  and  long  piazzas 
where,  through  the  warm  mornings,  the  summer 
boarders  travelled  back  and  forth  in  their  yellow 
rockers  and  "cultivated  their  minds"  or  their  ac 
quaintances  ;  and  where  it  was  said,  ladies  of  literary 
tendency  hung  placards  on  their  chairs,  reading: 
"Please  do  not  speak  to  me." 

The  only  other  boarder  in  Mrs.  Dow's  cottage  was 
a  little  high-shouldered  girl  with  a  pinched  face, 
glorified  by  a  pair  of  wide  and  startlingly  blue  eyes 
that  gazed  at  everything  with  singular  intensity. 
She  was  a  patient  of  the  Doctor's  and  had  come  there 
by  his  orders.  No  one  was  with  her  except  her 
governess,  a  spare  and  angular  woman  of  middle 
age,  with  kind  eyes  and  a  minor  note  in  her  voice, 
who  was  conscientious  to  a  degree  and  appeared  to 
222 


MY    FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

have  the  "fear  of  Madame"  always  before  her  eyes. 
She  had  not  been  with  her  little  charge  long,  having, 
as  appeared,  been  engaged  by  Madame  just  before 
the  child  was  sent  to  the  country  for  her  health  by 
the  direction  of  "a  big  doctor  in  town."  This  I 
learned  from  Mrs.  Dow  in  the  first  conversation  I 
had  with  that  well-informed  person. 

The  governess  was  almost  as  lonely  as  the  little 
girl.  This  I  learned  from  herself  in  the  first  con 
versation  I  had  with  her.  We  had  come  on  her,  the 
Doctor  and  I,  the  morning  after  our  arrival,  as  we 
strolled,  at  his  suggestion,  down  by  the  curving  bit 
of  beach,  where  the  tide  was  licking  the  yellow  sand 
with  the  placid  motion  of  a  tigress  licking  her  flanks. 

It  was,  however,  as  I  quickly  saw,  not  the  Sea  that 
my  friend  came  to  watch,  but  the  children.  A  score 
or  more  of  them  were  working  like  beavers  in  the 
sand,  digging  trenches;  building  forts,  or  running 
up  and  down,  toiling  almost  as  much  at  their  amuse 
ments  as  if  they  had  been  grown  people,  while  their 
nurses  and  governesses  gossiped  or  screamed  after 
them  like  so  many  gulls. 

But  apart  from  the  ruddy  children  sat  a  little  sickly- 
£23 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

looking  girl,  in  all  the  panoply  of  stiff  white  muslin 
and  lace,  with  her  nurse  by  her  side.  As  we  came  on 
her  we  saw  her  nurse  turn  and  shake  her  up  as  a 
child  shakes  a  limp  doll  to  make  her  sit  up  straight. 
And  for  a  few  seconds  the  doll  sat  up.  But  the  little 
weak  back  would  bend,  and  the  child  sank  down 
again  with  a  look  of  utter  weariness  and  despair 
which  struck  even  me.  Doctor  John  gave  a  deep 
growl  like  a  huge  mastiff,  out  of  which  I  got  some 
thing  about  "the  fools  who  were  allowed  to  live." 
And  the  next  moment  he  was  in  front  of  the  nurse, 
bending  over  the  child  and  talking  to  her  soothingly, 
asking  her  about  her  mamma,  and  her  dolls,  the 
puppy  he  had  given  her,  and  many  other  things  be 
sides.  The  governess  appeared  to  be  a  trifle  sus 
picious  at  first  of  this  new  old  friend,  but  the  Doctor 
quickly  disposed  of  her.  He  announced  that  he  was 
the  child's  doctor  and  had  come  down  to  see  her. 
This  was  the  fact.  Having  learned  that  Mrs.  Durer 
had  taken  the  child  down  to  the  seaside  as  he  had 
ordered,  but  had  not  remained  with  her,  he  had  run 
down  to  see  her  himself.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had 
the  little  girl  up  in  his  arms  showing  her  a  ship  just 


MY    FRIEND    THE    DOCTOR 

coming  in,  and  when  he  put  her  down  it  was  to  take 
her  off  with  him  on  a  hunt  for  shells,. 

Meantime  he  had  felt  the  little  twisted  back  and 
knew  just  how  she  stood. 

"Why  don't  you  let  her  play  in  the  sand  ?"  he  de 
manded  of  the  nurse  when  he  brought  her  back. 

"She  don't  care  to  play  much  these  days,  and  she 
gets  her  dress  so  soiled." 

The  Doctor  growled. 

"I  thought  so." 

When  he  came  home  it  was  to  hold  a  conference 
with  Mrs.  Dow  in  a  speckless  kitchen,  and  that  even 
ing  I  heard  that  stern  and  unbending  guardian  of 
her  own  rights  singing  his  praises  to  one  of  her 
serious-faced  neighbors  in  terms  of  eulogy  which 
would  have  surprised  the  departed  Captain,  whose 
name  in  the  household  was  "Lishy  Dow,"  and  who, 
by  report  of  Captain  Spile,  the  local  historian  of 
Rock  Ledge,  had  not  always  received  unstinted 
praise  from  his  spouse  during  his  lifetime,  though, 
as  the  Captain  remarked,  he  "guessed  he  got  all  he 
deserved,  for  Lishy  was  one  of  'em." 

"He's  dead,  is  he?"  I  inquired. 
225 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

"Well,  I  didn't  see  him  laid  out,"  drawled  the 
Captain;  "but  I  know  he's  buried  all  right,  for  I 
helped  to  bury  him." 

But  whatever  he  had  been  during  his  life, 
"  Lishy  Dow "  always  received  the  due  meed  of 
respect  from  Mrs.  Dow,  now  that  he  was  dead. 
Morning  after  morning  she  would  tear  the  brown 
paper  from  the  chops  or  leg  of  mutton  which  Josiah 
Martin,  the  young  man  from  Gill  Carver's,  the  meat 
man,  brought,  and  shove  the  meat  back  into  his  hands 
with  the  same  phrase:  "You  take  that  back  to  Gill 
Carver,  and  tell  him  I  say  he  needn't  think  he  can 
sell  such  meat  as  that  to  Lishy  Dow's  widow  just 
because  Lishy  Dow's  dead  and  gone."  And  morn 
ing  after  morning,  as  Josiah  started  off  with  the  meat, 
she  would  call  him  back  and  say,  "Well,  just  wait  a 
minute — I  guess  you  might's  well  leave  it  to-day,  as 
I'm  obliged  to  have  something  for  my  folks  to  eat, 
but  you  tell  Gill  Carver  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself  to  try  to  sell  such  meat  as  that  to  Lishy  Dow's 
widow  just  because  Lishy  Dow's  dead  and  gone." 

A  circumstance  which  I  did  not  know  of  till  later 
had  contributed  to  the  Doctor's  popularity.  As  the 
226 


MY    FRIEND    THE    DOCTOR 

Doctor  was  in  the  back-yard  talking  to  Mrs.  Dow 
about  his  patient,  he  had  seen  a  little  half-crippled 
girl  in  a  chair  under  an  apple-tree  playing  with  some 
scraps  of  stuff  out  of  which  she  was  making  clothes 
for  an  old  doll.  Mrs.  Dow  caught  the  expression  on 
his  face  and  answered  his  inarticulate  question. 

"That's  Jane." 

"Is  she  yours?" 

"Yes — my  Milly's.  She  stays  here  mostly.  Likes 
to  stay  with  me,  because  I  spoil  her,  I  guess.  Least, 
that's  what  Milly  says.  But  she's  so  hapless,  I 
don't  see  as  no  harm'll  come  of  a  little  spoilin'. 
She  can't  play  like  other  children,  an'  all  she  wants 
is  to  set  still  and  sew.  You'd  ought  to  see  how  she 
can  sew.  Speak  to  the  gentleman,  Jane."  For  the 
Doctor  was  now  at  Jane's  side  on  his  knees  exam 
ining  her  handiwork  and  incidentally  the  little  bent 
figure  among  the  old  cushions. 

"She  can  copy  anything,"  pursued  the  grand 
mother  with  subdued  pride,  "and  since  she  seen  the 
fine  fixins  that  little  thing  in  the  front  room  has, 
nothin'  will  appease  her  but  she  must  copy  'em  for 
her  doll." 

227 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

When  Mrs.  Dow,  having  allowed  me  a  measure  of 
reflected  friendship,  told  me  about  it,  she  described 
how,  all  of  a  sudden  she  had  seen  that  the  Doctor 
had  lost  all  interest  in  her;  and  from  the  time  he 
caught  sight  of  Jane  had  not  heard  a  word  she  said 
to  him. 

"But  I  was  really  ashamed  to  let  him  see  her 
so  untidy.  However,  as  I  say,  you  can't  raise 
children  and  chickens  without  dirt,  and  you  know 
he  said  'that's  so.'  And  now,  would  you  believe  it, 
in  five  minutes  there  was  Jane  up  in  his  lap,  talkin* 
to  him  the  same  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  her 
life,  and  she  never  one  to  say  a  word  to  nobody — • 
not  to  my  knowin'.  I  was  that  ashamed  of  his  seein* 
that  old  broken  doll,  b'cause  she's  got  a  better  one, 
but  Milly  won't  let  her  play  with  it,  and  't  appears 
she  likes  that  broken  one  best  anyways.  She  calls 
her  'Miss  Hazel,'  because  she  says,  she  looks  like 
'Miss  Hazel.'  An'  when  I  explained  it  to  him,  he 
said  he  liked  it  best,  too,  that  he  and  Jane  to- 
gether'd  mend  it.  Oh \  I  say!  that  man  beats  me! 
And  he  says  he  wants  me  to  give  him  Jane  for  a 
little  while,  and  he  says  he  can  make  her  like  other 
228 


MY   FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

children,  most.  But  I  mustn't  say  a  word  about  it 
to  a  soul.  So  I  won't — not  even  to  Milly.  But  won't 
that  be  grand  ?  Do  you  think  he  can  do  it  ?  Jane  ? 
Why,  she  ain't  got  anythin'  to  build  on.  But  I'll 
say  this:  if  anybody  can,  he  can.  I  wish  Lishy  Dow 
had  seen  him — just  handlin'  her  like  a  mother  does 
her  first  baby,  as  if  he  was  afraid  she'd  break  in 
two,  and  yet  just  as  easy!  If  anybody  can,  I  believe 
he  can." 

I  agreed  to  this. 

After  this  there  was  quite  a  change  in  the  estab 
lishment.  The  Doctor  appeared  to  be  so  much 
taken  up  with  the  two  children  that  he  left  me  to 
my  devices  while  he  went  off  with  them  to  play  at 
keeping-house  with  "Miss  Hazel,"  in  a  sunny  nook 
between  the  rocks,  where  he  had  with  his  own  hands 
helped  them  to  fashion  and  fit  up  a  little  house  out 
of  old  boards  and  other  odds  and  ends.  His  first 
piece  of  surgery  was  the  repair  of  the  broken  doll 
which  he  first  put  in  stays  and  afterwards,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  two  children,  in  a  little  plaster 
jacket.  I  soon  learned  of  this;  Jane  showed  her  to 
me,  while  little  Carolyn  looked  on,  and  no  trained 
229 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

nurses  ever  got  more  pleasure  out  of  exhibiting  an 
improving  patient.  But  I  did  not  know  until  after 
wards  that  the  Doctor  was  treating  Jane  in  the  same 
way,  and  that  whenever  he  paid  a  professional  visit 
to  the  doll  he  also  paid  one  to  the  little  mistress, 
having  secured  her  consent  through  his  services  to 
the  doll. 

The  treatment  of  the  little  visitor  he  had  found 
more  difficulty  in,  as  the  governess  stood  in  terror  of 
Madame;  and  Madame  had  left  strict  injunctions 
that  she  was  to  play  with  no  child  whom  she  herself 
did  not  know.  "Madame  was  very  particular." 

"Well,  I  have  a  playmate  for  her,"  said  the  Doctor, 
and  he  mentioned  Jane. 

"Oh!  Sir,  I  couldn't  let  her  play  with  her,"  pro 
tested  the  nurse.  "It  would  be  as  much  as  my 
position  is  worth  if  I  should  let  her  play  with  vulgar 
children.  Madame  gave  me  positive  orders — 

"Vulgar  children,  indeed!"  snapped  the  Doctor. 
"There  are  no  vulgar  children.  Vulgarity  is  a  mark 
of  a  more  advanced  age.  Madame  is  a  fool,  I  know, 
but  she  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  object  to  what  I  pre 
scribe.  Between  you,  you  are  killing  that  child,  and 
230 


MY   FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

you  will  not  keep  your  place  a  week  after  you  have 
killed  her." 

Whatever  the  means  were,  the  woman's  scruples 
appeared  to  have  been  overcome;  for  in  a  few  days 
the  two  little  girls  were,  as  I  have  related,  inseparable 
companions,  and  even  I  could  see  the  improvement 
in  the  little  visitor's  appearance. 

After  this  I  was  privileged  as  a  friend  of  the 
Doctor's  to  attend  one  or  two  of  the  "parties"  given 
in  "Miss  Hazel's  house,"  as  the  little  place  which 
the  Doctor  had  fitted  up  for  them  between  the  rocks 
was  called;  and  I  got  an  idea  of  the  Doctor's  skill 
in  the  handling  of  children.  There  was  a  great  deal 
of  formality  where  "  Miss  Hazel "  was  concerned,  and 
that  ancient  and  battered  lady  had  to  answer  a  good 
many  questions  about  her  health  and  that  of  her 
friends— as  to  whether  the  plaster  jacket  hurt  her, 
and  how  long  she  could  remain  strapped  on  her  board 
without  too  much  pain,  etc. 

"Miss  Hazel"  had  in  some  way  been  promoted 

through  the  medium  of  a  husband  lost  at  sea  and 

known  among  the  trio  as  "The  Late  Lamented,"  and 

was,  under  the  Doctor's  skilful  necromancy,  a  de- 

231 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

voted  invalid  aunt,  whose  only  joy  in  life  were  her 
two  nieces,  two  young  ladies  who  had  unhappily 
inherited  the  Hazel  back.  This  was  the  Doctor's 
invention  as  it  was  his  care  to  attend  the  entire 
Hazel  family.  And  it  was  amusing  to  see  this  long- 
limbed,  broad-shouldered  man,  sitting  day  after  day, 
carrying  on  conversations  with  the  span-long  doll 
about  her  two  nieces  and  their  future,  while  the  wan- 
faced  little  creatures  listened  with  their  eager  eyes 
dancing  at  the  pictures  he  conjured  up  of  their 
future  gaieties  and  triumphs. 

When  they  came  home  in  the  afternoon,  grimy 
and  happy,  with  faint  traces  of  color  in  their  wan 
cheeks,  Mrs.  Dow  unbent  and  gave  us  her  best  pre 
serves  in  sheer  happiness.  Even  the  nurse  admitted 
that  her  charge  ate  more,  slept  more  soundly  and  was 
better  than  she  had  ever  seen  her. 

They  not  only  played  in  the  present;  but  planned 
for  great  entertainments  when  Mrs.  Durer  should 
come  down — a  date  to  which  her  little  girl  was 
always  looking  forward  and  leading  Jane  to  look  for 
ward  to  also.  And  sometimes  they  played  that  "the 
beautiful  lady,"  as  they  called  her,  had  come,  and 
232  ' 


MY    FRIEND    THE    DOCTOR 

Carolyn  would  pretend  that  she  herself  was  her 
Mamma  and  act  her  part  as  a  lady  bountiful. 

I  never  saw  the  Doctor  in  such  spirits.  He  en 
tered  into  the  game  with  as  much  zest  as  the 
children,  and  grew  ruddy  in  the  sea  air. 

"  Pies  are  the  real  things ! "  he  used  to  say.  "  These 
Yankees  know  their  business.  And  of  all  pies — 
mud-pies  are  the  best.  Mrs.  Dow  is  right;  chickens 
and  children  must  have  dirt — clean,  honest  dirt — to 
play  in  to  be  healthy.  If  that  woman  will  keep 
away  long  enough,  I'll  give  that  child  a  chance  for 
her  life." 

"You  do  not  appear  to  hold  the  lady  in  quite  the 
esteem  the  world  gives  you  credit  for?"  I  hazarded. 

He  gave  a  grunt,  and  a  grim  expression  settled 
about  his  mouth.  After  a  moment  of  reflection,  he 
added:  "Oh!  she's  well  enough  in  a  way — as  good 
as  most  of  those  about  her,  I  fancy.  But  it's  the 
system — the  life.  It's  all  wrong — all  wrong!  Why, 
the  womanliness — the  motherhood  is  all  squeezed  out 
of  them.  I  don't  suppose  she  ever  put  that  child 
to  sleep  in  her  arms  in  her  life.  I  have  seen  women 
weep  and  wail  and  almost  die  of  heart-hunger  be- 
233 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

cause  they  have  no  children,  and  there  are  she  and 
her  like,  trifling  away  their  life  in  what  they  call 
their  d — d  society,  while  their  babies  perish  or  grow 
up  to  be  like  them.  Why,  I  would  not  give  that 
angular,  hard-featured  old  Mrs.  Dow,  with  her 
sharp  tongue  and  true  heart,  for  the  whole  race  of 
them.  She  is  real." 

"She  is  rather  crusty,"  I  hazarded. 

"Yes,  but  deep  down  under  the  crust  she  has  a 
heart,  and  a  woman  without  a  heart  is  a  monster." 

"She  must  have  a  heart.  She  could  not  look  as 
she  does,"  I  protested.  I  was  still  thinking  of  Mrs. 
Durer. 

"She  has  no  more  heart  than  one  of  my  instru 
ments." 

"She  is  so  beautiful.  I  cannot  quite  accept  your 
diagnosis.  And  the  child  appears  to  adore  her." 

"Yes  she  does,"  he  said  grimly.  "And  that  is 
the  worst  thing  I  know  about  her;  that  she  does  not 
feel  it.  I'll  vow!  the  Chinese  way  of  destroying 
them  at  birth  is  preferable.  It  is  at  least  swifter 
and  more  painless  than  casting  them  out  as  some 
women  do." 

234 


MY    FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

"I  think  where  children  are  concerned  you  may 
be  prejudiced,"  I  urged.  The  speech  sent  him 
off  into  a  reverie,  from  which  he  came  with  a  long- 
drawn  breath. 

"I  trust  so.  I  had  a  little  sister  once,"  he  said 
slowly,  "who  one  day  when  I  was  playing  with  her 
fell  and  hurt  herself.  My  mother  gave  her  life  trying 
to  save  her.  If  we  had  had  a  doctor  who  knew  more 
than  a  child  she  would  have  got  well.  Even  if  she 
had  been  let  alone  she  might  have  done  so.  She 
went  through  tortures  inflicted  on  her  by  a  pedantic 
ignoramus,  and  died.  Boy  as  I  was,  I  thought  it 
then  and  told  him  so.  I  know  it  now.  I  made  up 
my  mind  then,  that  no  other  child  who  came  within 
my  reach  should  ever  suffer  as  she  had  done;  and 
that  I  would  fight  an  unending  battle  against  pe 
dantry  and  pretence.  And  when  I  see  a  mother 
sacrificing  her  child  to  her  pleasures  I  know  just 
where  to  place  her." 

This  ended  the  conversation.     His  face  forbade 

further  discussion.     And  when  I  saw  him  next  time 

with  his  little  patients,  carefully  examining  first  Miss 

Hazel  and  then  Jane  and  the  little  boarder  with  a 

235 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

touch  as  deft  as  a  mother's,  I  knew  the  secret  of 
his  success,  and  I  slipped  quietly  away. 

My  summer  holiday  ended  before  the  Doctor  felt 
inclined  to  leave  his  patients,  and  I  left  him  there 
"keeping  house'*  with  Miss  Hazel  and  the  two  young 
ladies,  and  waiting,  as  both  the  little  Durer  girl 
and  Jane  informed  me,  "to  see  how  Miss  Hazel's 
spine  was  coming  on." 

I  learned  afterwards  from  one  of  my  friends,  who 
was  summering  at  Rock  Ledge,  that  Mrs.  Durer, 
towards  September,  about  the  end  of  the  season  at 
the  fashionable  summer  resort,  where  she  had  her 
cottage,  had  run  down  to  see  her  child  and  been 
wonderfully  surprised  and  delighted  at  her  im 
provement.  "It's  my  opinion,"  said  the  lady  who 
told  me  this,  "that  she  was  much  more  interested  in 
that  very  good-looking  and  serious-minded  doctor- 
friend  of  yours  than  she  was  in  her  little  girl.  She 
was  always  after  him  and  he  didn't  care  a  button 
about  her.  In  fact,  he  left  as  soon  as  she  came 
down." 

I  learned  also  that  an  unfortunate  misunderstand- 
236 


MY    FRIEND    THE    DOCTOR 

ing  had  arisen  with  Mrs.  Dow,  and  Mrs.  Durer  had 
taken  the  little  girl  back  to  town. 

It  seems  that  Mrs.  Durer,  however  much  pleased 
with  the  improvement  in  her  child's  appearance,  had 
very  fixed  views  as  to  her  social  position  and  as  to 
the  children  she  should  be  permitted  to  play  with. 
When  she  discovered  that  her  child  had  been  playing 
with  Mrs.  Dow's  Jane,  she  threatened  the  governess 
with  instant  dismissal  if  it  should  ever  occur  again. 

The  result  was  natural.  Both  children  wept  bit 
terly  and  "Elishy  Dow's  widow"  entered  the  lists. 
Mrs.  Dow  was  calm  to  outward  appearance;  but 
the  fire  within  burned  deep.  The  grief  of  the  chil 
dren  went  to  that  member  which  she  carefully 
guarded  from  public  scrutiny;  but  which  could  be 
easily  touched  if  one  but  knew  the  way  to  penetrate 
beneath  the  crust.  And  she  nursed  her  smouldering 
wrath  till  Mrs.  Durer  crossed  her  path. 

That  lady  drove  up  to  the  door  the  afternoon  be 
fore  she  had  arranged  to  return  to  her  home,  to 
explain  that  she  would  take  her  child  away  next  day, 
and  to  raise  some  question  about  Mrs.  Dow's  ac 
count.  She  was  dressed  impressively,  but  it  did  not 
237 


UNDER  THE  CRUST 
impress  Mrs.  Dow.  Mrs.  Durer  always  declared 
afterwards  that  the  woman  insulted  her  because  she 
would  not  permit  her  to  rob  her.  She  as  little  knew 
how  exact  that  careful  and  scrupulous  housewife 
was,  as  she  knew  the  real  cause  of  her  sudden  on 
slaught  on  her.  A  lioness  whose  den  had  been  invaded 
and  young  injured  would  have  been  less  ferocious. 

Mrs.  Durer  began  about  the  account  that  had 
been  sent  her;  but  the  score  Mrs.  Dow  had  to  settle 
was  unwritten.  She  was  simply  distant  and  coldly 
hostile  until  Mrs.  Durer,  from  her  carriage,  referred 
to  her  as  "My  good  woman."  A  flash  from  behind 
Mrs.  Dow's  glasses  might  have  warned  her;  but 
when  she  failed  to  heed  it  and  asked  after  her 
"daughter — the  unfortunate  one — Joan,  isn't  that 
her  name?"  the  lioness  that  had  been  crouching, 
sprang. 

"I  have  no  daughter  of  that  name,"  said  Mrs. 
Dow  with  a  lift  of  her  head,  "and  if  I  had,  I  don't 
know  as  it  would  matter  to  you  whether  she  was 
unfortunate  or  not,  seein'  as  you  have  one  that  ap 
pears  a  mite  unfortunate  herself,  as  you  don't  look 
after  any  too  carefully." 

238 


MY  FRIEND  THE  DOCTOR 
Mrs.  Durer  was  indiscreet  enough  to  show  temper 
and  to  reply  in  kind,  and  before  the  engagement  was 
ended,  Elishy  Dow's  widow  and  Jane's  grandmother 
had  told  her  some  home-truths  about  herself  which 
the  lady  had  never  dreamed  anyone  would  have  been 
bold  enough  to  hint  at.  She  knew  from  that  authori 
tative  source  that  she  was  a  cold-blooded,  unnatural 
woman  who  left  her  sickly  babe  to  a  foreign  woman 
to  care  for,  and  that  a  strange  doctor  had  had  to 
come  and  look  after  the  child,  and  that  when  she 
herself  had  come,  it  was  not  to  see  the  child,  but  the 
doctor.  And  all  this  was  told  with  a  directness 
that  had  the  piercing  quality  of  cold  steel. 

How  Mrs.  Dow  had  come  by  this  knowledge  Mrs. 
Durer  had  no  idea.  She  denied  every  part  of  it 
vehemently  and  furiously;  but  she  knew,  neverthe 
less,  that  it  was  true  and  that  her  enemy  had  the 
advantage  of  knowing  it  was  the  truth,  and  further, 
of  knowing  how  to  use  that  deadly  weapon.  So 
what  could  she  do  but  take  it  out  on  the  governess 
and  even  on  the  little  girl  ? 

Mrs.  Dow's  comment  on  the  matter  was  that, 
"Folks  as  ride  in  carriages  don't  hear  the  truth 
239 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

about  themselves  any  too  often,  but  if  they  come 
around  Elishy  Dow's  widow  puttin'  on  their  airs, 
they'll  get  it  unslacked." 

When  next  day  the  little  Durer  girl,  with  tearful 
eyes,  turned  up  dressed  for  the  journey,  with  "Miss 
Hazel"  clasped  to  her  breast  as  the  pledge  of  Jane's 
undying  affection,  Mrs.  Durer,  notwithstanding 
the  child's  tears,  insisted  on  the  doll  being  imme 
diately  sent  back,  asserting  angrily  that  it  was 
"nothing  but  a  horrid,  old,  broken  doll  anyhow," 
and  she  would  have  nothing  about  her  that  reminded 
her  of  that  outrageous  creature. 

"But,  oh!  it's  Miss  Hazel,"  wept  the  little  girl, 
"and  her  spine  hasn't  gotten  straight  yet  and  I 
wanted  to  take  her  to  the  Doctor." 

"Carolyn,  don't  be  so  silly.  I  will  not  have  any 
more  nonsense." 

So,  the  governess  was  sent  back  into  the  house  to 
return  Miss  Hazel,  while  Mrs.  Durer  by  turns 
scolded  the  child  and  promised  her  a  fine,  new  doll. 

And  this  was  the  end  of  the  little  girl's  dream. 

It  was  the  following  winter.     One  snowy  night, 
240 


MY    FRIEND    THE    DOCTOR 

the  Doctor  was  coming  down  his  steps  to  take  his 
carriage,  when  he  ran  into  a  woman  hurrying  up 
the  steps.  "Oh!  Doctor,"  she  panted,  "come  at 
once — she  is  so  bad." 

"  Who  is  ?     Whom  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 
"Your  little  girl — my  poor  little  angel." 
"What  is  the  matter  with  her?     How  long  has 
she    been    sick?    Who    has    been    attending    her? 
Where  is  her  mother?"  were  all  asked  at  once,  for 
the  Doctor  now  recognized  Mrs.  Durer's  governess. 
"I  don't  know,  sir,  what's  the  matter.     She  was 
taken  just  after  Madame  went  out  to-night.     She 
hasn't  been  quite  well  for  some  time.     A  doctor 
came  once,  but  there  hasn't  been  any  doctor  called 
in  since,  because  Madame  didn't  think  there  was 
much  the  matter.     You  see  she  hasn't  seen  much  of 
her  lately — she's  been  so  busy  going  out — but  she  al 
ways  runs  up  every  evening  before  she  goes  out  to 
ask  if  she  wants  anything."     (The  Doctor  grunted.) 
"But  this  evening  she  was  going  out  to  dinner  and 
afterwards  to  the  Opera  and  then  she  was  going  on 
to  a  ball  somewhere.     And  she  got  in  so  late  she 
just  had  time  to  dress  and  didn't  have  time  to  come 
241 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

up  to  the  nursery.  And  the  little  girl,  who  was  ailing 
a  bit,  was  so  disappointed  she  didn't  go  to  sleep  very 
quickly.  But  presently  she  went  to  sleep  pretending 
that  she  had  'Miss  Hazel'  in  her  arms — that's  the 
old  doll  you  mended  for  'em  last  summer — the  other 
little  girl  gave  it  to  her  when  Madame  took  her  away 
and  she  always  loved  it  best  of  all,  and  played  that 
she  still  had  her.  Then  after  she  had  been  asleep  a 
little  while  she  waked  and  asked  for  her  mamma,  and 
when  I  went  to  her  she  had  a  burning  fever,  and  was 
out  of  her  head.  And  I  thought  of  you  at  once, 
because  you  know  her  so  well.  But  William — he's 
the  butler,  he  said  as  it  wasn't  etiquette  to  send  for 
you,  and  Madame  would  be  home  before  long." 

"Etiquette  be !"  growled  the  Doctor,  and 

opening  his  carriage  he  handed  the  nurse  in  and 
sprang  in  after  her. 

"I  was  sure  you'd  come,"  panted  the  nurse,  "so 
I  thought  I'd  come  and  see  you  anyway;  so  I  just 
put  on  my  bonnet  and  came  right  away." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Doctor  was  at  the  child's 
bedside,  bending  over  her,  examining  her  with  a 
grave  face,  while  a  half  dozen  sympathetic  servants, 
242 


MY   FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

awestruck  at  the  sudden  illness,  stood  just  within  or 
just  without  the  doors. 

"Where's  Mrs.  Durer  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  raised  up. 

"She  must  be  at  the  ball  by  this  time,"  said  the 
butler.  "She  was  going  to  a  ball  from  the  opera." 

"Send  for  her  at  once,"  he  said  quietly,  and  imme 
diately  turned  all  his  attention  again  to  the  little  girl 
who  was  muttering  in  her  delirium. 

An  hour  later  there  was  a  rush  up  the  stairs,  a 
murmur  without,  and  Mrs.  Durer  hastily  entered  the 
room.  She  blazed  with  jewels. 

"  Oh !  my  angel !  My  poor  little  darling.  What  is 
it?  Are  you  ill!" 

She  paused  as  she  approached  the  bed,  and  then 
stood  still,  while  a  look  of  horror  came  into  her  face 
and  remained  stamped  there,  as  though  she  had 
turned  to  stone. 

"  Oh !  Doctor !     What  is  it  ?     Is  she  dying  ?  " 

"She  is  very  sick,"  said  the  Doctor,  without  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  child's  face.  The  woman  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed. 

"My  darling — don't  you  know  me?     Don't  you 
know  Mamma?"  she  asked. 
243 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

The  deep  sunken  eyes  rested  on  her  a  second,  but 
there  was  no  recognition.  They  turned  away,  and 
the  child  went  on  muttering: 

"Where  is  Jane!  Tell  Jane  when  my  beautiful 
Mamma  comes  she  will  play  with  us." 

The  Doctor's  face  hardened  at  the  words.  He 
had  heard  them  often  during  the  past  summer,  and 
he  knew  the  sad  ending  of  that  dream.  The  woman 
at  the  bedside  crouched  lower. 

"Don't  you  know  Mamma,  darling?" 

"No.  Where  is  Miss  Hazel?  When  she  gets 
well  and  strong  we  will  all  play  together." 

Mechanically  the  woman  at  the  bedside  began  to 
strip  off  her  jewels  and  they  rolled  down  on  the  floor, 
without  anyone  heeding  them.  "I  will  get  her  for 
you,"  she  said  humbly. 

A  fleeting  look  of  recognition  dawned  in  the 
little  face.  "Is  she  well?  May  I  play  with  her 
when  I  get  well?" 

"Yes— soon." 

"And  Jane? — My  Mamma  won't  let  me  play  any 
more." 

Mrs.  Durer  winced. 

244 


MY   FRIEND    THE   DOCTOR 

"Doctor,  what  is  the  matter  with  her?" 

"Starved,"  said  the  Doctor. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  turned  on  the  nurse 
like  a  tigress. 

"You!    You  wretch!    How  dare  you!" 

"  It  was  not  she."  The  Doctor's  voice  was  low,  but 
vibrant,  and  his  deep  eyes  burned. 

"What?— Who  then?  I  told  her  to  give  her  the 
best — to  spare  nothing." 

"She  obeyed  you,  but  she  could  not  give  her  the 
best." 

"What  ?    How  could  she  be  starved  ?" 

"It  was  her  heart.     It  starved." 

"You  mean — ?"  Her  voice  died  in  her  throat  as 
the  Doctor  suddenly  bent  low  over  the  child  and  put 
his  hand  on  her  softly,  as  after  a  sigh  the  tossing 
ceased  and  her  head  sank  on  the  pillow.  Mrs. 
Durer  bent  forward  with  horror  in  her  eyes. 

"Doctor!    What— is— it?" 

The  Doctor  made  no  reply,     He  folded  the  little 

hands  and  smoothed  the  soft  hair  on  the  little  face 

which  had  suddenly  grown  placid.     Then  he  bent 

over  and  kissed  the  white,  calm  brow.     And  when 

245 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

he  raised  up,  his  eyes,  as  he  glanced  at  Mrs.  Durer, 
had  softened. 

I  learned  of  the  death  of  the  little  girl  through  a 
letter  from  the  Doctor  which  showed  real  grief  and 
some  bitterness.  I  knew  therefore  that  the  story 
which  came  to  me  of  his  attention  to  Mrs.  Durer  was 
as  unfounded  as  ever.  And  when,  some  years  later, 
I  again  visited  Rock  Ledge,  now  grown  to  a  watering 
place  of  the  degree  which  the  press  calls  "some 
importance,"  I  was  interested  to  learn  something  of 
the  lady's  later  history. 

It  seems  that  for  years  she  returned  no  more  to 
Rock  Ledge;  but  went  abroad  annually,  returning 
just  in  time  each  season  to  display  at  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  summer  resorts  on  the  Coast  the 
creations  of  the  first  dressmakers  of  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix,  reinforced  gradually  more  and  more  by  the 
efforts  of  other  artists.  All  of  which  was  duly  chron 
icled  by  those  sheets  which  cater  to  the  millinery 
tastes  of  the  public  which  are  particularly  interested 
in  such  important  matters.  Then  after  a  period  in 
which  younger  rivals  came  to  supplant  her  in  the 
246 


MY   FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

eye  of  that  public,  she  reappeared  at  Rock  Ledge. 
She  was  still  handsome — some  said,  handsomer 
than  ever;  but  my  friend  who  spoke  to  me  of  her, 
said  she  was  the  most  discontented  woman  she  ever 
saw.  "She  wanted  nothing  that  she  had  and  wanted 
everything  else.  The  fact  is,"  she  said,  "she  always 
wanted  the  moon — she  wanted  to  marry  that  big 
good-looking  doctor  who  attended  her  child;  and 
who  performed  such  a  wonderful  cure  in  the  case 
of  old  Mrs.  Dow's  crippled  granddaughter — you 
know  about  that?" 

I  replied  that  I  had  heard  of  it.    But  she  went  on 

to  tell  me  all  the  details  quite  as  if  I  had  not  said  it. 

"You  know  she  did  not  have  any  spine  at  all." 

"No,  I  did  not  know  that,"  I  interjected. 

" — Not  a  particle  of  one — oh!    not  the  least  bit, 

and  your  friend  took  her  and  just  made  one  for  her, 

and  now " 

"How  on  earth  did  he  perform  that  miracle?" 

"I  don't  know — you  go  and  see  old  Mrs.  Dow,  in 

the  old  cottage  down  under  the  big  apple-trees,  with 

the  lilac  bushes  by  the  side  door,  and  the  peonies  and 

hollyhocks — and  she'll  tell  you.    He  actually  made 

247 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

her  one — strapped  her  to  a  board  for  years — and  put 
her  in  a  plaster  jacket  for  I  don't  know  how  long, 
and  now — what  do  you  think!"  She  paused  for 
breath  and  in  the  interval  I  said,  "I  did  not  know 
what  to  think." 

'' — She  is  a  trained  nurse — a  strapping,  strong 
woman — a  trained  nurse!" 

This  was  news,  indeed,  and  my  memory  of  old 
times  and  of  my  first  visit  to  Rock  Ledge  having 
been  revived  by  the  conversation,  I  strolled  down 
that  afternoon  to  see  Elishy  Dow's  widow  and  the 
old  cottage  under  the  big  apple-trees. 

I  found  her,  like  her  apple-trees,  a  good  deal  aged 
since  I  had  been  one  of  her  early  boarders  that  sum 
mer;  but  with  her  keen  eyes  still  glinting  shrewdly 
through  her  spectacles,  on  which  gold  rims  had  re 
placed  the  old  silver  rims — "given  her  by  Jane,"  as 
she  mentioned  with  grandmotherly  pride. 

She  still  cherished  the  memory  of  Elishy  Dow, 
and  apparently  cherished  some  other  memories  as 
well.  She  referred  again  and  again  to  that  summer 
that  I  had  spent  beneath  her  roof,  and  showed  me 
a  photograph  of  the  Doctor,  hung  in  her  front  room 
248 


MY   FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

in  a  place  quite  as  conspicuous  as  the  memorable 
portrait  of  Elishy  Dow.  It  also  was  the  gift  of  Jane, 
as  she  explained. 

"Oh!  I  say,  you  don't  know  how  much  Jane 
thinks  of  that  man — she  don't  allow  there's  anybody 
in  the  whole  world  just  exactly  like  him.  Why,  she 
thinks  as  much  of  him  as  if  she  was  his  widder. 
You  know  she's  in  his  hospital  now  ?  " 

"Ah!     I  am  sorry  to  hear  that." 

"Oh!  bless  you!  not  that  away — why,  Jane's  as 
well  and  strong  and  peart  now  as  anybody.  I  say, 
you  just  'd  ought  to  see  her.  Why!  the  Doctor! — 
Well,  you  just  'd  ought  to  see  her!  You'd  hardly 
believe  it." 

And  then  the  details  came  out  quite  as  my  friend 
had  said  they  would. 

Also  there  came  another  part  of  the  story. 

One  summer,  not  long  before — "just  about  dusk 
— well,  good  dusk,"  as  Mrs.  Dow  explained,  with 
the  precision  natural  to  her,  a  knock  had  come  on 
the  door — the  side  door  that  the  neighbors  used — 
and  when  she  had  put  down  the  basket  she  had  in 
her  hand  with  the  hood  in  it  which  she  was  "knitting 
249 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

for  Jane,"  she  went  to  the  door — and  there  was — 
"Who  do  you  suppose?" 

I  started  to  hazard  "Jane  ?"  but  it  was  plainly  not 
she,  nor  could  it  be  Elishy  Dow,  for  according  to 
Captain  Spile  he  was  well  buried.  So  I  gave  it  up 
as  someone  I  could  not  imagine.  Mrs.  Dow  looked 
triumphant. 

"That  woman!"  Her  face  became  reflective. 
"Well,  I — !"  she  began,  and  then  her  expression 
softened.  "I  don't  know  as  I  ever  felt  so  sorry  for 
any  woman  in  my  life.  I  never  expected  to  feel 
sorry  for  her;  but  I  did.  And  do  you  know  I  took 
and  showed  her  this  hull  house  and  everything  that 
poor  little  thing  had  used.  And  she  cried  like  her 
heart  would  break.  And  she  asked  me  to  take  her 
down  to  where  the  Doctor  made  the  play-house  for 
'em  that  summer,  and  asked  me  if  I  thought  she 
could  buy  that  place.  "I  never  expected  to  be  sorry 
for  that  woman;  but  I  was.  She  was  so  lonesome. 
She  said  she  didn't  have  a  soul  in  the  worl'  as  cared 
for  her — just  cared  for  the  money  she  had. 

"And  as  I  was  showin'  her  the  room  that  little 
thing  had  had,  and  the  bureau,  and  pulled  open  a 
250 


MY   FRIEND   THE   DOCTOR 

drawer,  there  was  the  old  doll  the  Doctor  mended 
for  Jane  that  first  summer  he  came  here,  when  he 
wanted  Jane  to  let  him  mend  her.  Jane  had  given 
it  to  that  little  girl  the  day  that  worn — the  day  she 
went  away  and  her  mother  wouldn't  let  her  keep  it, 
though  she  cried  so — and  there  it  lay  just  where 
Jane  put  it,  with  the  little  plaster  jacket  on  it  the 
Doctor  'd  made  and  all,  and  when  that  worn — when 
she  saw  it  she  grabbed  it  up  and  first  thing  I  knew 
she  fell  down  flat  on  the  floor  with  it  in  her  arms 
kissin'  it  like  'twas  her  own  child. 

"Well,  I  will  say  my  floor  is  clean.  One  thing 
Elishy  Dow  al'ays  would  have  was  a  clean  floor. 

"And  when  she  got  up,  she  asked  me  if  I  would 
sell  her  the  doll.  I  told  her  'No,'  I  couldn't  sell  her 
— 't  she  was  Jane's.  Then  she  asked  if  I  thought 
Jane  would  sell  her;  't  she'd  give  anything  for  her, 
*  anything  in  reason.'" 

As  she  paused  I  ventured  to  ask  her  what  her 
reply  was. 

"I  told  her,  'No— I  didn't  think  Jane  would; 
but  I  thought  Jane  would  want  me  to  give  it  to  her.' 
She  was  so  lonesome." 

251 


THE   HOSTAGE 

OR,   ALONG  THE  POTOMAC 
A  ONE-ACT  PLAY 


THE     HOSTAGE 

OR,    ALONG   THE    POTOMAC 
A   ONE-ACT    PLAY 

DRAMATIS   PERSONAE 
LlEUT.-CoL.     WlNTHROP    BARTLETT,     U.S.A.,     about 

25,  wounded  and  convalescing  at  Kent  Manor,  an 
old  Colonial  Mansion  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Potomac. 

MAJ.  LINDSAY  GRAHAM,  C.S.A.  An  old  class 
mate  of  Colonel  B's  ;  a  prisoner  of  war  in  Kent 
prison  under  sentence  of  death  as  a  hostage. 

LIEUT.  JOSEPH  CREW,  Superintendent  of  Kent 
prison. 

Miss  ROSAMOND  BARTLETT.  Sister  of  Colonel  Bart- 
lett  ;  about  20;  slim,  piquant  and  pretty. 

MAMMY  CAROLINE.  Major  Graham's  old  colored 
mammy  ;  who,  having  come  on  to  nurse  her  young 
master  and  not  being  allowed  to  see  him,  has  been 
engaged  temporarily  as  a  servant  by  Miss  Bartlett. 

255 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

ZEKE.     Mammy  Caroline's  son;    pompous,  self-im 
portant  and  lazy,  in  service  of  Colonel  Bartlett. 

GUARDS  AND  COURIERS. 

PLACE 

Kent  Manor,  an  old  Colonial  mansion,  in  a  -fine 
park  on  north  bank  of  Potomac,  from  which  the  family 
have  refugeed,  occupied  temporarily  as  headquarter  j 
by  Colonel  Bartlett  during  his  convalescence. 

TIME 
The  very  close  of  the  Civil  War. 

SCENE 

Open  court  at  rear  of  Kent  Manor,  partly  paved; 
with  Colonial  arcade  on  either  side,  and  offices  right 
and  left.  In  Court,  flowers  and  shrubs.  Two  doors 
and  an  alcove  L.  Over  an  alcove  hangs  a  large  U.  S. 
flag  as  a  portiere.  At  back  a  brick  wall,  ivy-covered, 
about  six  feet  high,  broken  in  one  place,  with  shrub 
bery  (evergreens)  beyond.  A  high  batten-door  R.  end. 
In  background:  a  rolling  park  with  trees  in  dis 
tance,  through  which  runs  a  road;  with  a  glimpse  of 
Potomac  River  winding  beyond. 

Trunks  and  boxes  are  standing  under  arcade,  sev 
eral  of  them  open.  There  are  lounging-chairs  under 
an  awning  and  a  bench  against  the  rear  wall.  Para 
phernalia  of  an  officer's  headquarters  is  lying  about. 

256 


THE   HOSTAGE 

CURTAIN    RISES 

MAMMY  CAROLINE.  [Discovered  packing  trunk. 
She  sighs  and  stops.]  Oh!  Master!  ef  dis  war  wuz 
jest  over!  To  think  of  my  young  master — my  chile 
— shet  up  in  dat  prison  yonder  and  dat  nigger-trader 
up  dyah  won't  let  a  soul  see  him!  He  always  hated 
my  chile.  I  wonder  ef  dat  Zeke  ain't  never  comin' 
back.  [She  steps  up  on  bench  and  peeps  over  wall. 
A  voice  is  heard  outside  singing.] 

"Ole  master  run,  ha-ha! 
De  darkies  stay,  ho-ho! 
It  mus'  be  now  dat  de  kingdom  am  comin' 
In  de  year  of  Jubelo!" 

MAMMY.  Dat's  dat  worthless  Zeke  of  mine  now! 
[She  jumps  down  and  turns  to  door  R.]  I'll  mek  him 
sing  de  wrong  side  of  his  mouf  ef  he  didn't  find  out 
what  I  send  him  to  find  out.  [Enter,  at  batten-door, 
Zeke  dressed  in  an  old  uniform.  Addresses  Zeke 
eagerly.]  Did  you  see  him  ? 

ZEKE  [looking  around].  Don't  hurry  me!  Don't 
jump  at  me  dat  way. 

MAMMY  [shaking  him  impatiently].  I'll  jump  at 
257 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

you  wuss  dan  dat  ef  you  don't  tell  me.     Did  you 
see  him? 

ZEKE  [coolly  admiring  himself].     See  who  ? 

MAMMY  [slapping  him].  Your  young  master  yon 
der  in  dat  prison. 

ZEKE.  I  ain't  got  no  young  master.  I'se  free. 
De  'mancipation  proclamation  is  done  set  us  all  free, 
Colonel  Crew  say,  an'  I'se  jist  as  good  as  he  is. 

MAMMY  [slapping  him  in  earnest].  Don't  fool  wid 
me,  boy!  Ef  you  does  I'll  show  you  whether  you 
free  or  not.  You  know  who  I  mean.  Did  you  git 
in  to  see  him  ? 

ZEKE.  Yes,  I  seen  him  last  night — [becomes  seri 
ous]  for  de  last  time. 

MAMMY  [sharply].     What's  dat?    Is  he  sick? 

ZEKE  [sadly].     No.     Wuss  den  dat. 

MAMMYO  What's  wuss  than  dat? — He  ain't 
dea— ? 

ZEKE.     Not  yit,  but  dey's  gwine  to  shoot  him. 

MAMMY  [dazed.  Falling  back].  Dey's  gwine  to 
what? 

ZEKE.     Shoot  him  for  a  hossiage. 

MAMMY  [dazed].     Shoot  him  for  what? 
258 


THE    HOSTAGE 

ZEKE.     For  a  hosstage — 

MAMMY.     What's  a  hossitage  ? 

ZEKE.  Hit's  somet'n  to  do  wid  stealin'  bosses. 
Dey's  gwine  to  shoot  him  for  de  boss  of  a  Yankee 
Colonel  what  de  Rebs  is  done  steal  t'other  side  of  de 
river — down  dyah  whar  you  call  yo'  home. 

MAMMY.     What's  he  got  to  do  wid  it  ? 

ZEKE.  Nuttin'.  But  dey's  gwine  to  shoot  him 
all  de  same.  Joe  Crew's  got  he  clamps  on  him  and 
you  know  when  he  gits  his  clamps  on  any  body  he's 
gone.  Dey  drawed  lots  for  'em  two  days  ago  to  see 
which  one  was  to  be  shot.  [He  takes  a  letter  from  the 
lining  of  his  pocket  and  holds  it  up  pompously.] 
Look  at  dis  paper. 

MAMMY.     What's  dat? 

ZEKE.  Hit's  a  letter  Colonel  Crew,  de  superin 
tendent,  gin  me  to  gi'  our  overseer,  Jake  Slow.  He's 
a  big  man  now.  He  gin  me  dis  uniform  to  carry  it. 
[Straightens  up  and  salutes  pompously.]  He's  gwine 
to  meek  me  a  Cap'n. 

MAMMY   [eying  letter   suspiciously].     Dat  nigger- 
trader  gin  it  to  you  ?     Gwine  to  meek  you  a  fool — ef 
you  wa'n't  dat  already.     What's  in  it  ? 
259 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

ZEKE  [pompously].  Ne'm  mind.  Dat's  for  me  to 
know  and  you  to  find  out. 

MAMMY  [snatching  the  letter  from  him].  Boy,  don't 
you  fool  wid  me.  [She  tears  the  letter  open  and  gazes 
at  it]  I  wonder  what  he  done  put  in  it  ? 

ZEKE  [trying  to  take  it  from  her].  Gin  it  to  me 
and  I'll  tell  you. 

MAMMY.  How  you  gwine  tell  me?  You  can't 
read. 

ZEKE.    Yes,  I  can.     Le'  me  show  you. 

MAMMY  [scornfully].  Well,  le'  me  heah  you.  [She 
holds  one  end  of  the  paper  while  he  holds  the  other 
and  looks  at  it] 

ZEKE  [hesitatingly].  "Dear  Jake:"  [To  Mam 
my]  Dat's  his  name,  you  know?  Jake  Slow? 
[Pauses.] 

MAMMY.     I  know  he  name,  boy.     Well,  go  on. 

ZEKE.  "I  takes  my  pen  in  hand  to  write  you 
dese  few  lines — "  Dat's  dat  line.  [Pauses  and 
points  to  letter.] 

MAMMY  [watching  closely].     Well,  go  on. 

ZEKE  [scratching  his  head],  "I  takes  my  pen  in 
hand  to  write — " 

260 


THE   HOSTAGE 

MAMMY.  You  done  said  dat  once.  He  ain't  put 
his  pen  down  yet. 

ZEKE  [pretending  to  read].  Don't  hurry  me.  Oh, 
yes!  "I  sends  dis  by  a  good  man,  Cap'n  Ezekiel 
Jackson — one  o'  my  bes'  frien's — a  very  fine  gent'- 
man.  Pay  him  well.  You  can  trust  him  intirely." 

MAMMY  [snatching  the  letter  from  him].  Go  on 
'bout  your  business,  boy.  I  know  he  ain't  said  dat. 
He  knows  you  too  well.  I'm  gwine  to  find  out  what's 
in  dis  letter.  [She  turns  to  door  L.  U.  E.  as  a  voice  is 
heard  outside  singing  :  "  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the 
boys  are  marching ."]  Miss  Rose. 

[Enter  Miss  Bartlett  L.  U.  E.  dressed  in  morning 
costume]  Oh,  Miss  Rose! 

ROSE.  Why,  Mammy,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Why 
are  you  so  agitated  ? 

MAMMY  [handing  her  letter].  Oh,  Miss  Rose! 
Dey's  gwine  to  shoot  my  young  master;  my  chile 
what  I  rocked  in  dese  arms.  Will  you  please  read 
dis? 

ROSE.  Shoot  your  young  master!  Impossible! 
What  for  ?  Where  is  he  ?  [Opening  letter  and  read 
ing}  "Dear  Jake:" 

261 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

ZEKE  [from  behind].  See  dyah!  Dat's  what  I 
said.  Who  say  I  can't  read  ? 

MAMMY  [looking  around  and  scowling  at  him]. 
Shet  up,  boy!  Please  go  on,  Miss  Rose. 

ROSE  [reading  slowly].  "At  last  I  have  my  re 
venge.  Your  young  Major  Graham  who  used  to  be 
so  scornful  of  me  and  you  as  a  nigger-trader  and  an 
overseer  is  just  where  I  want  him — in  my  power 
under  sentence  of  death  as  a  hostage  and  will  be 
shot  to-morrow.  Revenge  is  sweet.  I  wish  you 
could  be  here  to  see  it." 

MAMMY  [wringing  her  hands].  Oh,  Lord!  Oh, 
Lord! 

ROSE  [pausing].  Major  Graham!  Why  that  must 
be  my  brother's  old  classmate  and  friend  that  he  is 
so  much  interested  in!  [To  Mammy.]  What  is  his 
name? 

MAMMY.  Lindsay,  ma'am — Linds«y  Graham,  de 
son  of  my  ol'  master  and  mistis — what  I  hilt  in  dese 
arms  when  he  wa'n't  an  hour  ole — what  I'se  rocked 
to  sleep  on  my  breas'  so  often!  My  little  Marse 
Lindsay — my  chile! 

ROSE.  Yes,  that  was  his  name.  My  brother  said 
262 


THE   HOSTAGE 

he  was  in  some  grave  danger  and  he  has  gone  to  tele 
graph  to  Washington  about  him  to  try  to  save  him. 

MAMMY.  Yes,  m' — yes,  m' — I  pray  he  may  help 
him. 

ROSE.  Oh!  he  will — he  will,  I  know.  [Reading.] 
"He  drew  a  blank  at  first,  but  like  a  fool  gave  it  to 
another  man  who  had  a  family,  and  then  drew  in  his 
place  the  death  number."  [ To  Mammy]  Oh,  think 
of  that!  What  a  noble,  unselfish  thing! 

MAMMY.  Oh,  Lord!  Dat  was  just  like  him. 
What  did  he  do  dat  for? 

ROSE  [reading].  "I  shall  to-morrow  square  all 
our  accounts  and  we  will  see  how  he  appears  when 
he  looks  down  the  barrels  of  my  firing  squad."  [To 
Mammy]  The  wretch! 

MAMMY  [fiercely].  The  nigger- trader !  He  always 
hated  my  chile  becus  he  abused  him  once  for  sellin' 
niggers  down  Souf.  Oh,  my  po'  young  master! 

ZEKE.     He's  gone!     Didn't  I  tell  you  so? 

ROSE  [reading].  "I  have  one  more  enemy  here  to 
deal  with:  a  Colonel  on  our  side.  Carries  his  head 
too  high,  but  I'm  working,  and  hope  he'll  lose  it  be 
fore  long . 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

ROSE.  Who  can  that  be  ?  [Reading].  "He  has  a 
sister  I  want,  and  mean  to  get." 

MAMMY.     Dat's  you. 

ROSE  [reading].  "I  have  told  the  bearer  that  you 
would  reward  him." 

ZEKE.     See  dyah!     What  did  I  tell  you? 

ROSE  [reading].  "Return  him  to  his  master  as  a 
runaway  nigger  and  get  a  reward  for  him." 

ZEKE.     What's  dat! 

MAMMY.  Lord !  I  knowed  it.  An'  dat  fool  boy 
meckin'  out  he  ken  read !  [To  Z eke]  I  tolt  you  so. 
I  hope  now  you  satisfied,  Cap'n  Ezekiel  Jackson! 
Go,  boy,  and  find  de  Cun'l,  maybe  he  can  save  him. 
Hurry  for  your  life,  you  heah !  Hurry !  [She  drives 
Zeke  out  R.U.E.]  Oh,  ef  de  Cun'l  was  just  here  he'd 
try  to  save  him,  'cause  he's  a  good  man  ef  he  is  a 
Yankee. 

ROSE.  "If  he  is  a  Yankee,"  indeed !  Well,  let  me 
tell  you  that  he  has  gone  to  telegraph  to  Washington 
to  try  to  save  Major  Graham,  if  he  is  a  Rebel. 

MAMMY   [excitedly].     Oh!     Thank  de  Lord   for 
dat!    When  will  he  be  back?    [She  climbs  up  on 
bench  and  looks  over  wall] 
264 


THE   HOSTAGE 

ROSE  [mounting  bench  and  looking  over  wall].  He 
ought  to  be  back  now.  He  was  in  a  great  hurry. 
Perhaps,  he  got  the  reprieve  and  took  it  straight  to 
the  prison.  [They  both  look.] 

MAMMY.  Pray  de  good  Lord  he  did.  Ain't  dat 
him?  Nor  dat's  a  bush.  You  jist  well  git  down, 
Miss  Rose — "A  watched  pot  never  biles."  [Con 
tinues  to  gaze  eagerly.] 

ROSE  [shading  her  eyes].  There  is  a  man  coming; 
but — he  is  not  my  brother. 

MAMMY  [peering].  Where?  Where?  Oh!  Dat's 
de  man  up  yonder  at  the  prison.  I  know  dat  man. 
I's  seen  him  many  a  time,  drivin'  a  drove  o'  black 
folks  like  dey  was  cattle — whole  wagon-loads  of  'em — 
to  sell  'em  down  Souf .  He  used  to  be  a  nigger-trader 
down  home  befo'  de  war  and  runned  away  when  de 
war  come  an'  jined  de  Yankees.  [A  voice  outside 
R.  U.  E.  calling  Zeke  !  Zeke  !] 

ROSE  [eagerly].  There  is  my  brother  now! 
[She  jumps  down]  He  must  have  come  the  other 
way.  I  will  see  if  he  got  the  reprieve.  He  must 
have  it. 

MAMMY.  Oh!  Thank  de  Lord!  [They  turn  to 
865 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

R.  U.  E.     Enter  Colonel  Bartlett  R.  U.  E.    Rose  runs 
forward  to  meet  him,  followed  by  Mammy.} 

ROSE.     Brother,  were  you  successful  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [wearily  shaking  his  head}. 
No.  Failed.  [Sinks  into  chair.] 

ROSE  [horrified].  What!  Your  telegram  has  not 
been  answered? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [despondently;  taking  off  his 
sword}.  Yes.  But — adversely.  The  influence  was 
too  strong.  There  is  no  hope. 

MAMMY.  Oh,  Lord!  My  young  master!  My 
chile!  My  chile!  I  got  to  go  pray  now.  I  ain' got 
no  hope  but  in  Gord!  [She  throws  apron  over  her 
head  and  rocks  from  side  to  side.  Exit  Mammy 
slowly,  L.  U.  E] 

ROSE.  It  is  terrible!  To  think  of  them  shooting 
an  innocent  man.  It  is  monstrous! 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [gravely].  It  is  one  of  the 
laws  of  war.  One  of  our  men  was  shot,  or  is  reported 
to  have  been.  He  is  a  hostage  and  suffers  for 
another. 

ROSE.     Did  you  know  that  he  had  drawn  a  blank 
and  given  it  to  a  brother  officer  who  had  a  family  ? 
266 


THE   HOSTAGE 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Oh,  yes!  I  told  them  that. 
I  even  put  in  my  telegram  that  he  had  once  saved 
my  life.  Of  course,  I  could  not  tell  how  when  I 
had  shot  at  him  he  fired  in  the  air,  but  I  stated  the 
fact  and  I  asked  his  life  as  a  personal  favor. 

ROSE.  And  the  reply  was  adverse?  What  did 
it  say  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [taking  out  a  dispatch.]  "  Im 
possible."  [Hands  dispatch  to  her.]  That  fellow 
Crew  has  blocked  me.  He  is  an  incredible  ruffian, 
skulking  around  a  prison  instead  of  being  in  the 
army! 

ROSE  [reading].  "Impossible.  Superintendent  of 
prison  reports  your  story  untrue.  Major  Graham 
was  properly  selected  for  execution."  Signed,  "Sec 
retary  of  War."  [In  horror]  That  creature  Crew! 
To  take  his  word!  He  is  a  murderer! 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [soothingly].  Oh!  The  laws 
of  war — 

ROSE.  Were  made  for  justice,  not  cruelty,  and 
should  not  be  made  the  excuse  for  murder. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [speaking  moodily].     To  think 
of  old  Lindsay  Graham,  the  life  of  our  class,  being 
267 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

shot  to  death  against  a  prison-wall  by  a  turncoat 
dog  like  that  Crew!  Heigh-ho!  It's  bitter! 

ROSE.  Why  did  you  not  try  the  President?  He 
has  a  great,  kind  heart,  "with  malice  toward  none 
and  charity  for  all." 

COLONEL  BABTLETT  [wearily].  I  could  go  no 
further  than  the  Secretary  of  War.  He  is  my 
superior. 

ROSE.  But  the  President  is  the  superior  of  every 
one.  Does  the  poor  man  know  that  your  efforts 
have  been  in  vain? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  No.  I  tried  to  get  a  permit 
to  see  him,  but  in  vain.  That  fellow,  Crew,  was  in 
a  rage  over  an  escape  that  took  place  last  night  and 
had  left  word  to  let  no  one  see  him. 

ROSE.  An  escape  of  prisoners!  Oh!  Brother,  I 
am  afraid.  They  must  be  desperate  men.  I  am 
afraid  they  might  come  here. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Oh!  They  will  not  come 
where  an  officer  has  his  headquarters. 

ROSE.  Oh!  If  that  poor  fellow  had  only  gotten 
away! 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [shaking  his  head}.    It  would 


THE   HOSTAGE 

have  done  him  no  good.  They  are  certain  to  be 
recaptured.  Crew  is  scouring  the  country,  and  they 
cannot  get  across  the  river.  Every  boat  is  locked. 
Well,  I  must  go  and  give  orders  to  have  a  sharp 
lookout  kept.  And  then  I  must  complete  my  arrange 
ments  to  leave  this  afternoon  to  join  my  regiment. 
[Rises  and  tries  to  walk.  Staggers  and  catches  at 
tabk]  Oh! 

ROSE  [springing  to  his  side  and  supporting  him 
solicitously.]  Oh!  Brother,  how  pale  you  are!  You 
are  still  far  too  ill  to  go  back  to  the  front.  [Helps 
him  to  a  chair,] 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [recovering].  No!  I  am  all 
right.  I  must  go!  The  war  is  almost  over.  Rich 
mond  has  fallen.  Lee  has  abandoned  Petersburg 
and,  with  his  veterans  worn  to  a  mere  remnant,  is 
trying  to  reach  Johnston;  and  when  the  last  battle 
is  fought  I  must  be  with  my  men.  [He  takes  up  his 
sword  and  tries  to  put  it  on.] 

ROSE  [helping  him  buckle  on  sword].     Oh!     I  feel 

as  though  I  had  just  gotten  you  back  from  the  dead. 

You  have  been  father,  mother,  everything  to  me. 

And  to  have  you,  after  all  the  fatigue  and  danger, 

269 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

go  again  seems  so  dreadful.  Suppose  after  all  you 
have  escaped  you  should  fall  at  the  last  in  the  very 
moment  of  victory.  Oh!  I  could  not  bear  it! 
[Brushes  away  a  tear.] 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [fondly  patting  her].  To  die 
in  the  moment  of  victory  is  a  soldier's  glory.  Why, 
is  this  the  little  girl  who  four  years  ago  helped  me 
buckle  on  my  sword  and  bade  me  go  and  help  save 
the  Union?  Don't  you  know  that  the  only  danger 
for  a  soldier  is  being  left  behind  ? 

ROSE  [wipes  her  eyes].  Yes — yes,  I  know — of 
course,  you  must  go.  But  oh!  If  they  were  only 
conquered  and  the  war  were  over! 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  What  we  want  is  not  con 
quest,  but  peace  and  the  Union. 

ROSE  [warmly].  No.  I  want  peace,  but  I  want 
them  conquered  too;  conquered! 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [Laughing  and  patting  her]. 
We  are  not  fighting  for  conquest.  As  soon  as  they 
lay  down  their  arms  they  will  be  our  brothers  again. 

ROSE  [vehemently].  Not  mine!  Never  mine!  I 
wish  their  fate  were  in  my  hands.  Oh!  What 
wouldn't  I  givei 

270 


THE   HOSTAGE 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [laughing].  My!  What  a 
fire-eater!  You  are  almost  as  bad  as  "Colonel" 
Crew,  who  wants  to  hang  them  all. 

ROSE  [smiling].     Not  as  bad  as  that. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [walks  over  and  reaches  up 
to  take  down  the  flag].  But  this  flag  is  broad  enough 
to  protect  them.  Even  against  their  will  it  will  pro 
tect  them.  Here,  you  will  have  to  take  this  down. 
I  cannot.  [Supports  himself  against  wall  or  table.] 

ROSE  [moving  over  and  mounting  chair  to  take 
down  flag].  "If  any  man  pulls  down  the  flag  shoot 
him  on  the  spot!"  [Enter  Zeke  R.  U.  E.  announcing 
a  visitor.] 

ZEKE.  Mister  Crew.  [Enter  Crew  in  gaudy  uni 
form.] 

CREW  [to  Zeke  pompously].  Colonel  Crew,  Sir. 
[Salutes  Colonel  Bartlett.]  Good  morning,  Colonel 
Bartlett.  A  fine  day  to  get  rid  of  rebels,  eh  ?  [Bow 
ing  low  to  Rose.]  Good  morning,  Miss  Rose.  You 
are  looking  unusually — ah — I  hope  you  are  very  well. 
[Colonel  Bartlett  returns  salute  stiffly.  Rose  bows 
coldly.  Passes  over  to  her  brother.  Speaks  to  him 
in  undertone.] 

271 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

ROSE.  I  don't  wonder  the  prisoners  try  to  es 
cape  from  him.  I  shall  escape.  [Starts  to  retire 
L.  U.  E.] 

CREW  [eagerly].  Don't  go  away,  I  beg  you,  Miss 
Rose.  You  will  be  interested  in  what  I  have  to  say. 

ROSE  [coldly].  I  hardly  think  so.  [Walks  over  to 
trunk  and  busies  herself  with  packing  while  listening.] 

CREW  [addresses  Colonel  Bartlett].  You  have  heard 
of  the  escape  last  night?  I  understand  you  have 
been  up  to  my  place  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Yes.  I  heard,  and  I  rode 
up  to  what  you  call  your  place  to  see  the  prisoner  in 
whose  fate  I  informed  you  I  was  interested:  Major 
Graham. 

CREW  [somewhat  anxiously].  Did  you  see  him? 
What  did  you  learn  there  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  I  learned  that  I  could  not 
see  him  because — [Pauses]. 

CREW  [very  anxiously].     Because —  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [coldly].  You  had  left  orders 
that  no  one  was  to  have  access  to  him. 

CREW  [recovering  himself].  Yes,  yes.  A  prisoner 
under  sentence  of  death — a  just  sentence,  too.  Those 
272 


THE   HOSTAGE 

are  the  orders  from  headquarters.    You  are  very 
much  interested  in  him  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Yes,  I  am  interested  in 
every  gallant  young  man  whose  unfortunate  fate  it 
is  to  come  under  the  unhappy  law  of  reprisals,  and 
particularly  in  one  who  was  my  classmate  and  to 
whom  I  once  owed  my  life. 

ROSE  [sighing].  Only  a  brute  would  not  be  in 
terested.  [She  glances  toward  the  park].  What  was 
that  ?  I  thought  I  heard  some  one. 

CREW  [looking  at  Rose  significantly].  You  were 
unsuccessful  in  your  efforts  to  secure  his  pardon  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.    How  do  you  know  that  ? 

CREW  [pompously].  I  know  many  things,  Colonel 
Bartlett — and  I  have  come  to  demand  your  aid  in 
apprehending  the  prisoner  who  escaped  last  night. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [coldly].  Demand  ?  It  is  my 
duty  to  do  whatever  an  officer  and  a  gentleman 
should  properly  do,  and  I  shall  do  it  irrespective  of 
any  demand  by  you. 

CREW.  Ah!  And  in  particular  to  demand — I 
mean — ah — to  request  that  a  close  watch  be  kept 
about  this  house  here. 

273 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  That  shall  be  done,  too, 
but  it  is  not  likely  that  escaped  prisoners  will  come 
where  a  Union  Officer  has  his  headquarters. 

CREW.  Humph!  I  don't  know.  I  do  not  be 
lieve  in  allowing  such  a  hotbed  of  treason  as  this 
place  to  remain  as  It  is.  It  ought  to  be  burnt  to  the 
ground. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [turning  on  him].  Lieutenant 
Crew,  the  orders  are  that  this  place  is  not  to  be  in 
terfered  with  in  any  way  beyond  what  is  requisite 
for  the  proper  use  and  benefit  of  our  troops,  and  I 
mean  to  see  that  these  orders  are  carried  out. 

CREW  [aside].  You  are  damned  squeamish  about 
the  property  of  rebels !  [To  Colonel  Bartlett.]  There 
is  no  use  in  becoming  excited.  I  suppose  you  are 
not  aware  that  at  least  two  of  the  servants  in  your 
employ  are  spies  for  the  rebels  and  have  been  trying 
to  get  into  communication  with  prisoners  under  my 
very  nose? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.     I  am  aware  that  an  old 

negro  woman  who  is  employed  here,  temporarily, 

was  the  nurse  of  Major  Graham,  and  came  here 

hoping  to  see  him — which  you  prevented;  but  what- 

274 


THE    HOSTAGE 

ever  she  may  have  wanted  she  has  had  no  opportu 
nity  to  injure  any  one. 

CREW.  No  opportunity!  Suppose  I  should  state 
to  you  that  she  and  her  son — I  mean  she  had  aided 
— I  mean  had  aided  prisoners  to  escape  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [coldly].  I  should  question 
that  statement. 

CREW.  And  that — ah — the  prisoner  who  escaped 
has  been  traced  to  this  house — in  this  direction  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  If  you  said  to  this  house,  I 
should  say  that  it  was  false;  if  in  this  direction,  I 
should  say  that  he  would  be  caught. 

ROSE  [coming  forward  and  looking  at  her  brother 
anxiously].  Coming  in  this  direction  ?  The  es 
caped  prisoner! 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Naturally  he  would  make 
for  the  river  and  try  to  get  across  to  the  other  side. 
But  if  he  comes  this  way  he  will  be  recaptured.  My 
people  are  on  the  lookout  for  him. 

CREW.  Oh!  He  cannot  escape  unless  someone 
helps  him,  for  he  is  wounded.  I  have  offered  a 
reward  for  him  dead  or  alive.  We  shall  have  him 
before  dark. 

275 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

ROSE  [solicitously].     Oh!     Is  he  badly  wounded  ? 

CREW.  Not  as  badly  as  I  would  like  or  as  he  will 
be  if  I  can  get  a  chance  at  him.  [Handles  his  pistol.] 

ROSE.     Oh!    I  hope  they  will  capture  him  alive. 

CREW.  You  need  waste  no  sympathy  on  him. 
I  am  not  sure  I  would  not  rather  have  him  dead. 
He  is  a  desperate  fellow. 

ROSE  [clasping  her  hands  and  looking  at  her 
brother].  Oh!  Is  he  desperate? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Poor  devils!  desperate 
enough,  I  fancy!  [Showing  Crew  the  door.]  Lieu 
tenant  Crew,  I  will  join  you  outside. 

CREW.     Lieutenant  Colonel  Crew,  if  you  please. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Well,  Lieutenant  Colonel 
Crew,  be  so  good  as  to  wait  for  me  outside.  [Exit 
Crew  R.  U.  E.,  reluctantly;  looking  over  his  shoulder 
at  Rose.  Colonel  Bartlett  takes  up  pistol  and  turns 
to  door]  What  a  blackguard  that  fellow  is!  I 
could  stand  being  shot,  but  not  being  his  prisoner. 
He  adds  another  terror  to  war.  Rose,  I  will  never 
be  taken  prisoner. 

ROSE.     Would  it  not  be  terrible?    Do  you  think 
he  will  catch  the  prisoner  ? 
276 


THE   HOSTAGE 

COLONEL    BARTLETT    [thoughtfully],,     Oh,    yes. 
There  is  no  fear  of  his  not  catching  him.     He  must 
have  a  nose  like  a  hound.     He  has  had  too  much 
experience    chasing    runaway    slaves.     [Lays    pistol 
down  on  table  and  turns  to  door.] 

ROSE.  Oh!  please  take  your  pistol.  Suppose  he 
should  shoot  you!  He  must  be  a  desperate  man. 
Wait  for  me.  [She  takes  up  pistol  timidly.] 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [smiling].  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  that  ?  Protect  me  ? 

ROSE.  Yes.  I  am  going  with  you.  You  are 
wounded,  and  if  he  should  meet  you  he  might — 
[handles  pistol]  shoot  you. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [dodging].  Look  out!  I  am 
more  afraid  of  you  than  of  him.  A  woman  is  a 
dangerous  creature  anyhow,  but  with  a  pistol ! 

ROSE.  Pshaw!  Men  are  such  cowards.  [She 
lays  pistol  down  on  table,  with  relief '.]  Wait  for  me. 
I  am  afraid  for  you. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [laughing].  You  stay  here 
and  catch  him  if  he  comes  here.  I  will  be  back 
after  a  little.  [Exit  Colonel  Bartktt  R.  U.  E.] 

ROSE  [talking  to  herselj  with  her  eye  on  the  door]. 
277 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

I  trust  they  will  catch  him.  He  might  be  the  very 
one  to  shoot  my  brother.  Oh!  I  know  it's  un 
christian,  but  I  wish  he  had  not  escaped.  [She  turns 
to  pack  trunk.  Suddenly  over  the  rear  wall  where  top 
of  bushes  show,  springs  a  young  man  much  disheveled 
and  with  arm  in  a  sling,  loses  his  balance  and  falls, 
rises  quickly,  catches  sight  of  the  pistol  on  the  table, 
seizes  it,  burns,  and  faces  Rose,  who  is  much  startled.] 
Oh !  [Advancing  upon  Young  Man.]  Who  are  you  ? 
What  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  here  ? 

YOUNG  MAN.  Who  are  you?  Who  is  here? 
They  are  after  me  out  there! 

ROSE  [imperiously].  Who?  Tell  me  who  you 
are.  What  do  you  want?  What  are  you  doing 
here? 

YOUNG  MAN  [rapidly].  I  am  a  Confederate 
Officer  who  escaped  from  prison  last  night,  trying 
to  make  my  way  across  the  river  to  get  back  into 
our  lines.  And  they  are  hot  on  my  tracks. 

ROSE  [starting  back].  Oh!  You  are  the — !  An 
escaped  prisoner! 

YOUNG  MAN.    Yes.     I  heard  we  had  friends  here 
who  would  help  us.     Who  lives  here? 
278 


THE   HOSTAGE 

ROSE.  Colonel  Bartlett  has  his  headquarters 
here. 

YOUNG  MAN  [starting].  What  Colonel  Bartlett? 
[Catches  sight  of  flag  over  alcove.]  You  mean  a 
Yankee  Colonel  ?  Where  is  he  ?  [Inspects  pistol.] 

ROSE  [advancing].     Give  me  that  pistol. 

YOUNG  MAN  [smiling].  No.  I  have  no  other 
arms.  I  will  not  hurt  you.  You  need  not  be  afraid. 
No  matter  who  is  here,  you  must  conceal  me. 

ROSE.  Give  me  the  pistol.  The  place  is  sur 
rounded  by  guards. 

YOUNG  MAN.  I  know  it.  They  are  all  about 
here.  I  have  lain  in  the  bushes  outside  that  wall 
since  daybreak  watching  them.  If  you  can  conceal 
me  until  dusk  I  can  get  across  the  river. 

ROSE  [reflecting].  No,  you  cannot.  How  can  you 
escape  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  the  river  is  watched 
and  that  every  boat  is  ticketed  and  locked  ? 

YOUNG  MAN.  I  will  get  there  somehow;  but  I 
cannot  get  to  the  river  unless  you  help  me.  If  my 
arm  were  not  so  bad  I  could  swim  it.  But  I  got  it 
broke  last  night  in  escaping  and  it  is  so  help 
less. 

279 


UNDER  THE   CRUST 

ROSE  [advancing].  Does  it  pain  you  very  much  ? 
How  can  I  help  you  ?  What  do  you  want  ? 

YOUNG  MAN.  Well,  first,  I  want  some  soap  and 
water  and  a  decent  suit  of  clothes. 

[Crew  heard  outside  R.  U.  E.  calling.]  You  men 
keep  a  close  watch  all  around  the  grounds.  He  can't 
be  far  off.  If  you  see  him  shoot  him  down. 

ROSE  [exclaiming].  Oh!  They  are  coming  back. 
[She  locks  door  R.  U.  E.,  seizes  and  wraps  in  a  'bun 
dle  a  clean  shirt,  a  uniform  coat  and  a  pair  of  uniform 
trousers.  Young  Man  listens  and  cocks  pistol.  Rose 
turns  to  him]  Promise  me  you  will  not  use  that 
pistol. 

YOUNG  MAN.  Not  unless  it  is  necessary.  But  I 
will  not  go  back  to  that  prison.  I  will  not  be  taken 
alive.  I  would  rather  be  shot  down  than  go  back 
to  that  prison  to  die  like  a  dog. 

ROSE.    Why  should  you  die  in  prison  ? 

YOUNG  MAN.  I  was  to  have  been  shot  to-day 
as  a  hostage. 

ROSE  [astonished  and  agitated].  Oh!  You  are 
Major  Graham!  I  understand  now.  If  you  will 
promise  not  to  use  that  pistol  I  will  conceal  you. 
280 


THE   HOSTAGE 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  I  promise.  [Lays  pistol  on 
table  near  her.]  There!  A  woman's  wit  is  bet 
ter  than  a  pistol.  But  both  should  be  handy. 
So,  I  shall  count  on  your  presence.  Where  shall 
I  go? 

ROSE  [steps  past  and  lifts  flag].  Here!  Take 
these!  Under  this! 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  That  uniform!  Under  that 
flag!  Never!  [Lays  down  coat.  Folds  arms  and 
looks  at  her.  Knocking  heard  at  door  R.  U.  E] 

ROSE  [vehemently].  Take  these,  I  say.  Get 
under  that  instantly.  Even  against  your  will,  it 
will  protect  you.  [She  seizes  him  and  pushes  him 
under  flag  forcibly,  then  turns  back  toward  R.  U.  E.] 
Who  is  there?  [She  unlocks  door.  Enter  Crew 
R.  U.  E] 

CREW.  Ah !  Miss  Rose,  you  still  here  ?  and  alone ! 
Fortune  is  kind  to  me.  I  have  been  seeking  this  op 
portunity. 

ROSE.  I  am  still  here — as  you  see.  [She  ap 
pears  very  busy  packing]  Have  you  caught  the 
prisoner  ? 

CREW.  We  have  not  got  the  scoundrel  yet,  but 
281 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

I  will  have  him  in  ten  minutes.  He  cannot  escape 
me  now.  We  know  his  hiding-place. 

ROSE  [starting  and  glancing  at  flag].  You  know 
his  hiding-place?  Ah!  Where  is  it? 

CREW.    In  this  house. 

ROSE.  What?  In  this  house?  Who  says  so? 
[Looks  behind  her.] 

CREW  [advancing].  He  was  seen  to  spring  over 
the  wall  here. 

ROSE  [laughing  in  a  forced  way].  Nonsense!  I 
have  been  here  ever  since  you  left.  He  could  not 
have  done  it  without  my  seeing  him.  [She  moves 
up  between  Crew  and  flag.] 

CREW.  Ah!  well.  He  cannot  escape.  He  is  run 
to  earth.  And  meantime  I  have  another  important 
matter.  [Turns  back  to  door  and  calls  to  men  outside.] 
Guards,  stand  outside  as  I  told  you.  Watch  down 
the  road.  Beat  the  shrubbery,  and  shoot  him  on 
sight.  [Closes  door  and,  turning,  crosses  over  to 
wards  Rose]  Miss  Rose,  you  are  going  away  to 
night  ? 

ROSE.  Yes.  [Busies  herself  packing]  Imme 
diately.  As  soon  as  my  brother  returns.  Like  a 
282 


THE   HOSTAGE 

brave  man  he  wishes  to  be  at  the  front,  and  not  spend 
his  life  skulking  at  the  rear. 

CREW.  I  once  wrote  a  letter  telling  you  how 
much  I  admired  you.  You  did  not  receive  it. 

ROSE  [coldly].   Yes.    I  received  it  and — returned  it. 

CREW.     It  was  an  insult  to  me. 

ROSE.  I  had  no  desire  to  insult  you;  but  I  have 
still  less  to  associate  with  you. 

CREW.  Because  I  am  unknown,  you  and  your 
brother  think  I  am  not  your  equal,  but  I  will  be  rich 
and  powerful  some  day,  and  then 

ROSE  [coldly].  Whether  you  are  known  or  un 
known  does  not  concern  me.  I  returned  your  letter 
because  I  did  not  wish  to  hold  any  communication 
with  you.  Did  you  see  my  brother  outside  ?  [Starts 
toward  R.  U.  E.,  then  hastily  turns  back  to  former 
position  before  alcove] 

CREW.  He  has  gone  off — to  send  another  message  to 
save  a  rebel  who  deserves  to  be  hanged  and  who  would 
shoot  him  on  sight.  But  it  is  you  I  want  to  talk  of. 
[Advances  to  her]  You  are  in  love  with  some  one  else  ? 

ROSE  [haughtily].  Whether  I  am  or  not  is  no 
concern  of  yours,  Lieutenant  Crew.  I  will  bid  you 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

good  afternoon.  [Turns  toward  L.  U.  E.  Glances 
at  flag,  which  is  moving,  and  turns  back  again,  facing 
Crew.  Oh!  [Addressing  Crew.]  You  say  the  pris 
oner  was  seen  to  come  into  this  house  ? 

CREW.  Yes,  but  as  you  have  been  here  all  the  time 
it  must  have  been  some  other  part  of  the  wall — the 
garden- wall,  perhaps? 

ROSE  [hastily].  Yes.  There  is  a  garden-wall — 
there  is  an  unused  wing  with  some  empty  rooms  in 
it.  You  might  search  that.  Let  me  show  you  the 
way.  Come  this  way.  [She  leads  him  out  R.  E.  2. 
Enter  Major  Graham  from  under  flag  as  door  closes. 
His  beard  is  trimmed  and  he  is  dressed  in  clean  linen 
and  wears  a  pair  of  uniform  trousers] 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  That  scoundrel!  To  dare  even 
to  speak  to  that  angel,  much  less  pay  his  addresses 
to  her!  If  ever  I  get  hold  of  him  I'll — [A  step  is 
heard  outside  R.  E.  2.  Major  Graham  springs  to 
table  and  picks  up  pistol.  Turns  to  flag.  Hesitates 
to  lift  it.  Addresses  flag]  Well,  I  never  expected  to 
be  under  your  protection  again,  but —  [Knob  of 
door  R.  E.  2  turns] — here  goes.  [Steps  behind  flag. 
Enter  Rose  R.  E.  2.  Crosses  over  rapidly.] 
284 


THE   HOSTAGE 

ROSE  [calling  in  undertone].  Quick!  Major 
Graham,  you  must  go.  Major  Graham! 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [lifts  flag  and  steps  out].  Did  you 
call? 

ROSE.  Yes.  Quick!  [Shows  surprise  at  his 
changed  appearance.  Aside.]  How  improved  he  is ! 
[To  Major  Graham.]  You  must  get  away  from 
here  instantly.  He  will  be  back  directly. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [coolly].    Where  is  he  ? 

ROSE.  I  left  him  searching  the  vacant  wing. 
[Points  over  her  shoulder]  I  think  I  heard  the  lock 
spring  as  I  came  out,  but  he  will  be  released  as  soon 
as  he  can  make  any  one  hear  him,  and  you  must  go. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  At  least,  let  me  thank  you  for 
my  life  and  tell  me  to  whom  I  owe  it. 

[Knocking  heard  in  distance  and  Crew's  voice  call 
ing.]  Open  this  door.  Open  it,  I  say. 

ROSE  [listening].     There  he  is  now. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Let  him  stay  there.  Who  is 
the  officer  whom  he  asked  you  about  ? 

ROSE.  He  is  my —  Never  mind  who  he  is.  You 
must  go. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Is  he  the  handsome  fellow  I 
285 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

have  seen  at  a  distance  ?     Tall,  with  good  shoulders 
and  his  arm  in  a  sling  ? 

ROSE.  Yes.  Now  you  must  go.  It  will  not  do 
for  him  to  see  you.  He  will  be  back  here  im 
mediately. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  I  hope  I  shall  not  meet  him. 
Do  you  like  him  ?  He  said  you  did. 

ROSE.  Yes.  I  love  him  better  than —  [She 
seizes  pistol  in  Major  Graham's  hand  and  takes  it 
from  him.]  You  promised  me  not  to  use  this. 
[Picks  up  uniform  coat.]  Here  is  a  coat.  It  has  a 
Major's  straps  on  it.  It  will  just  fit  you. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [holds  coat  at  arm's  length  and 
looks  at  it  smiling].  Do  you  call  that  a  decent  suit  ? 

ROSE  [firing  up].    Yes  I  do.     Put  it  on  at  once. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  I  am  afraid  if  I  saw  myself  in 
it  I  might  shoot  myself.  [Sounds  of  door  breaking 
outside] 

ROSE.  Quick!  I  hear  him  coming.  [She  helps 
him  into  coat]  Go  in  there  and  lock  the  door  as  you 
go  in.  I  will  entertain  him. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [smiling].  Let  me  lock  him  in 
and  you  entertain  me. 

286 


THE    HOSTAGE 

ROSE.  Goon!  Hurry!  Here!  [Takes  key  from 
pocket  and  hands  it  to  him.]  This  is  the  key  to  the 
lock  of  our  boat.  You  must  slip  out  of  the  door 
beyond  the  dressing-room.  Go  down  the  box  walk. 
Let  yourself  through  the  gate  at  the  corner  of  the 
garden,  and  from  there  to  where  the  boat  lies  chained 
to  the  root  of  a  great  sycamore  tree  is  only  twenty 
steps.  You  can  lie  concealed  among  the  willows  till 
night  and  then  cross  the  river. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  I  owe  you  my  life,  but  before 
I  go  I  beg  you 

ROSE.     Go.     I  beseech  you.     They  are  coming. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  I  will  go,  but  not  until  you  tell 
me  your  name.  To  whom  do  I  owe  my  life  ? 

ROSE.     Why  do  you  wish  to  know  ? 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  That  I  may  remember  it  in  my 
orisons. 

ROSE.  My  name  is  Rosamond.  But  you  will 
forget  it. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.     The  Rose  of  the  World.     For 
get  it !     I  will  never  forget  it  or  you  as  long  as  I  live. 
You  are  an  angel,  and  some  day,  if  I  live,  I  will  find 
you  and  prove  it  to  you,     [He  kisses  her  hand.] 
287 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

ROSE  [turning  away  and  then  turning  back.]  Where 
are  you  going  ? 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Back  home.  To  the  South.  I 
have  you  to  thank  that  instead  of  being  shot  like  a 
dog  I  shall  have  a  chance  to  strike  one  more  blow  for 
the  South.  If  I  die  then  I  shall  die  happy. 

ROSE  [in  alarm].  Oh!  You  are  going  back  to 
fight? 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Yes.  There  must  be  one  more 
fight.  And  once  more  I  shall  ride  at  the  head  of 
my  men.  I  have  this  to  thank  you  for. 

ROSE  [draining  back].  Oh!  Just  what  my  brother 
said.  Suppose  you  should  meet  him!  Promise  me 
if  you  meet  him  you  will  not  shoot  him. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.    Of  course  I  promise  that. 

[Colonel  Bartlett's  voice  heard  without,  calling.] 
Zeke,  come  and  take  my  horse. 

ROSE.     Go.    I  must  stop  him.     Good-bye. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  No.  Not  good-bye.  Some  day 
again,  when  the  flag  of  freedom  flies,  I  will  see  you. 

ROSE  [lifting  the  flag  and  drawing  it  partially 
about  her]     Go.    This  is  my  flag  of  freedom.    I  am 
what  you  call  a  Yankee.    I  am  a  Northerner. 
988 


THE   HOSTAGE 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [stooping  and  lifting  her  hand  to 
his  lips].  What !  You  are  an  angel,  and  angels  have 
no  latitude.  Good-bye.  [He  kisses  her  hand.  Exit 
under  flag.  Enter  R.  U.  E.  Colonel  Bartlett.] 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Well,  little  Sis,  how  are  you 
getting  on  packing  ?  We  must  be  off  in  an  hour,  or 
I  shall  miss  the  boat. 

ROSE  [stammering].     Did  you  catch  him  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [taking  off  his  sword].  The 
President?  Don't  know  yet.  I  sent  a  message  as 
you  suggested. 

ROSE.     No.     I  mean  the  escaped  prisoner. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [laying  his  sword  down  on 
chair].  No.  Did  you  ? 

ROSE.  Yes.  I  mean — I  don't  know.  I  mean — 
No. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [turning  as  if  to  enter  alcove]. 
What  are  you  talking  about  ? 

ROSE  [steps  in  front  of  him  and  laughs  nervously]. 
Nothing.  I  don't  know  what  I  was  saying.  Where 
are  you  going  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Into  my  dressing  room  if 
you  will  let  me  by.  I  must  see  about  my  old  uniform. 
289 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

With  the  Major's  straps  taken  off  it  will  be  the  very 
thing  to  wear  in  the  field.     [He  tries  to  put  her  aside.] 

ROSE  [catching  him  by  coat].  No,  you  must  not 
go  in  there.  You  look  so  tired.  You  must  sit  right 
down  here  and  rest.  [She  draws  him  over  and  makes 
him  sit  in  chair  on  top  of  sword  and  other  articles] 
There,  now  be  comfortable. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  I  am  not  comfortable.  [He 
rises  impatiently  and  faces  her]  Rose,  what  is  going 
on  here  ?  There  is  something  mysterious  I  cannot 
make  out. 

ROSE.  Nothing.  There  is  nothing  mysterious. 
Men  are  so  suspicious. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Why  cannot  I  go  into  my 
own  dressing-room? 

ROSE.     Because  I  have  a  surprise  for  you. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  What?  What  has  hap 
pened?  You  look  quite  pale. 

ROSE.  Nothing.  Oh!  Such  a  surprise!  [She 
pinches  her  cheeks]  Pale!  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I 
am  just  as  rosy.  Besides,  I  was  afraid 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  I  know.  Afraid  I  would 
get  hurt. 

290 


THE   HOSTAGE 

ROSE  [nodding].  M-hm-hm.  And  that  poor,  poor 
fellow  in  that  prison  yonder.  Isn't  it  dreadful! 

COLONEL  BABTLETT.  Well,  you  need  have  no 
apprehension.  Let's  take  down  the  flag  now.  We 
must  be  off  at  once.  I  am  expecting  a  dispatch  every 
minute. 

ROSE.  Oh!  No!  Leave  it  until  the  last  thing. 
[She  strikes  an  attitude  and  laughs  a  faced  laugh.} 
"If  any  man  touches  the  flag  shoot  him  on  the  spot." 
Brother,  cannot  you  get  rid  of  that  creature,  Crew  ? 
I  cannot  bear  him  in  my  sight. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.    He  is  not  in  your  sight  now. 

ROSE.  But  I  mean  in  the  house.  The  very 
thought  of  him  makes  my  flesh  creep.  [She  looks 
toward  dressing-room  door  and  shudders.] 

COLONEL  BABTLETT.  Is  he  in  there?  It  would 
be  just  like  his  cursed  impudence.  Searching  my 
house!  [He  steps  towards  door.  Rose  catches  him 
quickly] 

ROSE.  Oh!  No!  He  is  in  the  other  end  of  the 
house. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [turning].  Well,  I  will  get 
rid  of  him  in  short  order.  I  will  order  him  out.  As 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

if  a  rebel  could  be  harbored  in  this  house  under  the 
very  flag!  It  is  ridiculous! 

ROSE  [stammering].  Yes,  think  of  it!  Under  the 
very  flag!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  [Exit  Colonel  Bartlett 
hastily  R.  E.  2.  Enter  Major  Graham  smiling.] 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Well  done.  I  did  not  think 
you  were  such  an  actress. 

ROSE  [agitated].  Oh !  I  cannot  do  it !  Oh!  I  ought 
not  to  have  deceived  him!  He  trusts  me.  How 
wicked  in  me.  I  must  undeceive  him.  [She  starts 
to  go  after  Colonel  Bartlett.  Stops  and  faces  Major 
Graliam] 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [seating  himself  and  half  smiling]. 
All  right,  I  am  your  prisoner. 

ROSE.  Oh!  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Why  did 
you  come  here  ? 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Because  God  had  put  an  angel 
here  to  help  me. 

ROSE.  Do  you  not  know  that  as  a  Yankee  I  hate 
you? 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  But  as  my  captor  you  must 
pity  me. 

ROSE  [listening  L.  E].  Some  one  is  coming.  Go. 
292 


THE   HOSTAGE 

[She  lifts  flag  and  glances  in;  drops  flag  over  door.] 
Oh!  It  is  Crew.  You  are  too  late.  Here.  [She 
hastily  takes  off  her  apron  and  wraps  it  around  him. 
Takes  up  uniform  coat  and  throivs  it  over  his  arm.] 

[Enter  Crew  L.  E.]. 

CREW.  Damn  him!  Where  is  he?  [To  Rose.] 
You  have  made  a  fool  of  me. 

ROSE.  Oh,  no,  /  have  not.  [To  Major  Graham  in 
tone  of  authority]  Go  take  this  coat  and  do  as  I 
told  you. 

MA  JOB  GRAHAM.  Yes,  Madam.  [Glances  at  pis 
tol  and  hesitates.]  Shall  I  take  this? 

ROSE  [hesitatingly].  Ye-s — .  I  wonder  if  my 
brother — ?  No,  leave  it  there. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [bowing].  Yes,  Madam.  [Exit 
L.  U.  E.] 

CREW  [to  Rose].  Who  is  that?  Where  have  I 
seen  that  man  before  ?  I  know  that  voice. 

ROSE  [warmly].  On  my  word,  Sir!  I  think  your 
inquisition  has  gone  far  enough.  Where  is  my 
brother  ? 

CREW  [sarcastically].  He  has  gone  to  get  another 
dispatch,  I  suppose.  Trying  to  save  the  enemy  of  his 
293 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 
Country.     I  wish  to  finish  what  I  have  to  say  to 
you. 

ROSE  [haughtily].    Well,  Sir.     What  is  it? 

CREW.    You  refuse  me  because  of  some  one  else  ? 

ROSE.  I  do  not.  I  refuse  you  because  of  your 
self,  and  I  refuse  to  discuss  anything  further  with  you. 
Now  go.  [Points  to  R.  U.  E] 

CREW  [insolently].  I  will  not  go.  Your  brother  is 
ordered  off  and  I  am  in  command  here  now,  as  I  pro 
pose  to  show  you  and  him,  and  if  I  catch  that 
scoundrel  he  shall  hang  this  evening. 

ROSE.  You'd  better  try  to  catch  him.  Listen! 
[Points  outside  L.  U.  E.  Sound  of  shots  and  shouts 
heard.] 

CREW  [backing  away  alarmed].  My  God!  What's 
that? 

ROSE.  Gracious  Heavens!  [She  runs  to  door. 
Opens  it  and  cries  out.]  Do  not  shoot  him.  He  is 
unarmed.  [Exit  L.  U.  E] 

CREW  [following  her  and  looking  in  at  door  cau 
tiously].  Shoot  him!  Damn  you!  Shoot  him,  I 
say.  [Jerks  out  pistol]  Let  me  shoot  him. 

ROSE  [springing  out  at  door,  catching  his  pistol  and 
294 


THE   HOSTAGE 

struggling  with  him}.  You  shall  not  shoot  him. 
Don't  you  see  he  is  unarmed  and  already  wounded. 

CREW  [unable  to  get  pistol  free.  Shouting].  Hand 
cuff  him.  Tie  him.  Tie  him  tight.  That's  right. 
[To  Rose.]  It  makes  no  difference.  He  will  be  shot 
this  afternoon,  or  better  still,  hanged  for  being  in  that 
uniform. 

ROSE.  Oh!  Hanged?  That  uniform!  What 
have  I  done! 

CREW  [triumphantly].  Yes,  hanged!  Ha!  ha! 
You  thought  you  had  outwitted  me.  See  what  has 
come  of  it.  Ah !  This  is  fine !  To  catch  him  in  our 
uniform  and  hang  him  as  a  spy!  That  is  a  good 
one! 

ROSE  [half  dazed].  Hanged!  Oh!  Impossible. 
You  could  not  be  so  wicked.  You  know  that  he  is 
not  a  spy,  that  he  has  just  put  it  on  to  escape  in. 

CREW.  Do  I  ?  I  know  the  laws  of  war — I  know 
the  sweetness  of  revenge. 

ROSE.  Then  revenge  yourself  on  me.  I  gave  it 
to  him  because — because 

CREW.  I  know.  I  know  well  the  reason  you  gave 
it.  I  will  revenge  myself  on  you  in  good  time — and 
295 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

on  your  brother,  too.  Oh!  this  is  better  than  I  ever 
hoped  for.  I  will  make  you  cringe. 

ROSE.     I  beg  of  you 

CREW.  Ah!  that  is  sweet!  You  beg —  You — 
beg  of  me ! 

ROSE.  Yes — I  beg — it  was  my  fault.  My  broth 
er  is  wholly  innocent.  He  did  not  know  he  was  here. 
What  do  you  say  ? 

CREW.  Wait  and  see.  You  think  .he  is  better 
than  me.  Well,  wait  and  see  him  on  the  gallows  and 
your  brother  arrested  for  helping  a  rebel  prisoner  to 
escape. 

ROSE.  Yes,  even  on  the  gallows  he  would  be  your 
superior — as  superior  as  righteousness  is  to  wicked 
ness;  courage  to  cowardice;  nobility  to  meanness. 
And  as  to  my  brother  I  fear  nothing.  He  is  above 
your  power  to  injure. 

CREW  \juriously}.  Oh!  He  shall  hang  as  high  as 
Haman  and  at  once.  [Enter  L.  U.  E.  Major  Graham, 
bound  with  rope  and  brought  in  by  two  guards;  a 
bandage  on  his  head  and  his  arm  tied  up.  To  Major 
Graham.]  Ah,  my  young  man,  I  have  you. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [bows  silently  to  Rose  and  then 
296 


THE   HOSTAGE 

turns  to  Crew}.  Yes.  It  is  not  much  to  catch  an 
unarmed  man  and  a  wounded  one  at  that.  If  I 
had  had  a  pistol — [Staggers  and  leans  against  table.] 

ROSE.  Oh!  What  have  I  done!  [She  brings 
him  a  chair.]  Sit  down  and  rest.  [In  an  undertone.] 
Forgive  me. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  There  is  nothing  to  forgive. 
It  was  not  your  fault.  You  did  all  in  your  power. 
It  was  my  misfortune. 

CREW  [sneeringly].  You  were  cleverly  trapped. 
You  thought  you  were  safe  under  the  protection  of 
this  patriotic  young  lady,  but  I  knew  where  you 
were  all  along.  She  gave  you  up. 

ROSE.  Oh!  What  a  falsehood!  [To  Major  Gra 
ham.]  You  do  not  believe  that? 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Not  a  word  of  it.  I  know  him 
of  old.  A  liar  and  a  coward. 

CREW.  You  will  know  me  better  in  an  hour  or 
two  when  you  are  mounting  the  gallows. 

ROSE  [shuddering].  Oh!  [To  Crew,  fiercely]  You 
shall  not  insult  him. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [quietly].    He  cannot  insult  me. 

CREW.     But  I  can  hang  you. 
297 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  And  I  can  hang  and  still  defy 
you.  Do  you  think  that  when  death  is  what  every 
soldier  faces  every  day  as  an  incident  of  his  duty 
that  I  should  fear  it?  [To  Rose.]  Do  not  disturb 
yourself.  It  is  the  fate  of  war. 

ROSE  [to  Crew].  If  my  brother  were  here  you 
would  not  dare  do  this. 

CREW  [scornfully].  Your  brother  is  not  here  and 
I  am  in  command  now  and  I  order  you  to  leave 
instantly  or  I  will  arrest  you.  [To  guard]  Take 
this  young  woman  to  her  room  and  if  she  attempts  to 
return  arrest  her.  Lock  her  up. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [rising].    You  hound! 

ROSE  [to  Guard].  Do  not  touch  me.  I  will  go. 
[To  Major  Graham.]  My  brother  will  soon  return. 
Do  not  despair. 

CREW.  Your  brother  and  you  will  have  enough 
to  do  answering  charges  of  treason  for  harboring 
rebels — the  enemies  of  your  country. 

ROSE.  We  the  enemies  of  our  country!  It  is  you 
and  your  like  who  are  the  enemies  of  our  country 
and  its  disgrace. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [to  Rose].  Bravo!  Well  said!  I 
298 


THE   HOSTAGE 

will  never  despair  while  I  have  your  compassion. 
[Exit  Rose  under  guard  L.  U.  E.  To  Crew.]  You 
blackguard!  If  I  were  only  free  for  one  mo 
ment! 

CREW.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  The  wheel  has  turned  and 
the  negro-trader  whom  you  used  to  despise  is 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  A  negro- trader  and  a  black 
guard  still,  just  as  you  always  were,  whom  I  still 
despise;  a  disgrace  to  the  uniform  which  thousands 
of  gallant  gentlemen  have  worn  with  honor. 

CREW  [jerks  out  pistol  furiously}.  Damn  you!  I 
will  kill  you. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [facing  him  calmly].  I  dare  you ! 
Shoot. 

CREW  [pausing  and  putting  up  pistol].  No;  that 
would  please  you  too  much.  I  will  wait  and  hang 
you.  [Enter  L.  U.  E.  Mammy  Caroline  dressed  in 
shawl  and  bonnet.  She  sees  Major  Graham,  rushes 
over  and  embraces  him,  crying.] 

MAMMY.  Oh!  my  Chile!  my  Chile!  What  is 
dey  doin'  to  you  while  I  been  'way! 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  Why,  Mammy!  Dear  old 
Mammy!  I'm  all  right. 

299 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

CREW  [catching  hold  of  Mammy  Caroline].  Get 
away  from  him. 

MAMMY  [wheeling  on  him].  Don't  you  tetch  me  I 
Don't  you  lay  yo'  hand  'pon  me.  If  you  does  I'll 
tyah  you  limb  from  limb.  [She  brandishes  a  large 
pair  oj  scissors.] 

CREW  [backing  away].  You  black  harridan!  I'll 
have  you  shot.  [Loud  knocking  outside  R.  U.  E.] 
Who  is  that?  [Enter  Guard  hastily.  To  Guard.] 
Arrest  this  woman.  Lock  her  up. 

MAMMY.  Yes,  you  can  'rest  me,  but  don't  you 
tetca  me  or  I'll  meek  you  think  every  nigger  you 
ever  sold  is  on  yo'  back. 

GUARD  [handing  Crew  a  dispatch].  A  courier  just 
brought  this  for  Colonel  Bartlett.  Says  it  is  urgent. 

CREW.  Colonel  Bartlett  is  away.  I  will  take  it. 
[Opens  it]  Hell!  [Glances  at  Guard  and  changes 
tone]  Oh!  That's  all  right!  Where  is  the  mes 
senger?  Tell  him  to  wait. 

GUARD.  All  right!  But  I  think  he  has  gone. 
[To  Mammy]  Come  on,  old  woman. 

MAMMY.  All  right.  I'mgwine.  [To  Crew.]  You 
wait  till  de  Cun'l  comes.  He'll  settle  you.  [She 
300 


THE   HOSTAGE 

lays  scissors  on  table.    Exit  Guard  with  Mammy 
R.  U.  E.] 

CREW  [calling].  Guard!  Guard!  Hell!  I  must 
see  him.  I  will  have  him  shot  instantly.  [Stuffs 
dispatch  in  pocket  and  looks  at  Major  Graham.]  You 
are  safe  enough,  I  guess,  till  I  get  my  squad.  Guard ! 
[Exit  Crew  hastily  R.  U.  E] 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [soliloquizing].  Well,  it  is  all 
over.  If  it  had  only  been  in  battle  at  the  head 
of  my  men!  It  is  hard  to  go  this  way,  but  after 
it  is  all  over  it  is  quite  the  same,  I  suppose. 
This  rope  cuts  cruelly.  [Enter  Rose  softly  L.  U. 
E.  Gazes  around  and  passes  over  to  Major  Gra 
ham.] 

ROSE.  Can  you  forgive  me?  If  I  had  dreamed 
of  this!  I  thought  you  might  meet  my  brother  and 
I  feared  you  might  shoot  him. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [startled].  Oh,  it  is  you!  There 
is  nothing  to  forgive.  You  did  all  you  could  and  I 
shall  thank  you  all  my  life — all  the  little  span  left  to 
me.  [He  groans] 

ROSE.  Oh!  do  not  say  that.  I  must  save  you. 
You  are  in  pain. 

301 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  It  is  nothing — only  the  rope 
cuts  into  my  wounded  arm. 

ROSE.  I  can  cut  it.  Wait!  Where  is  a  knife? 
Oh!  these  will  do.  [She  gets  the  scissors,  locks  door 
and  then  cuts  rope.]  There,  you  are  free.  Take  this 
and  make  a  dash  for  liberty  [Hands  him  a  pistol] — 
and — forget  me. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.  I  will  never  forget  you.  You 
have  saved  my  life  twice.  Good-bye.  But  before 
I  go,  will  you  give  me  that  rose  ?  [Indicates  rose 
which  she  wears] 

ROSE  [lifting  hand  to  rose].     Why  ? 

MAJOR  GRAHAM.     That  I  may  remember  you. 

ROSE  [quickly].  That  you  may  remember  me? 
You  just  said  that  you  would  never  forget. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [stammering].  No!  You  know  I 
will  never  forget  you.  But  give  it  to  me  as  a  token 
of  the  divine  compassion  of — of  an  enemy. 

ROSE  [unpinning  a  small  flag  from  her  dress  and 
holding  it  out  to  him  with  the  rose].  Here,  I  will  give 
you  this  to  remind  you  of  the  flag  I  love. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [taking  a  step  back].  No,  not 
that!  [Stepping  forward  as  she  continues  to  hold  it 
302 


THE   HOSTAGE 

out.]  Yes,  I  will!  Even  though  I  fight  for  the  same 
principles  under  another  flag.  I  will  take  it  for 
what  it  has  been  in  the  past,  when  it  was  the  flag  of 
my  fathers. 

ROSE  [handing  it  to  him].  For  what  it  has  been, 
for  what  it  is  and  for  what  it  shall  be  in  the  future 
— the  flag  of  the  Union — the  flag  of  Freedom. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [putting  the  flag  in  his  breast 
pocket].  Good-bye! 

ROSE.  Good-bye!  [Gives  Major  Graham  her 
hand  which  he  kisses.]  Good-bye.  Go!  [She  moves 
over  to  L.  U.  E.  and  exits  slowly.  Major  Graham 
moves  to  R.  U.  E.  looking  over  shoulder  at  Rose. 
Enter  Colonel  Bartlett  R.  U.  E.  They  run  into  each 
other.] 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [raising  pistol  presents  it  to 
Colonel  BartletCs  breast].  Halt!  Out  of  the  way, 
or  you  are  a  dead  man. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [coolly].  What  is  all  this? 
Lindsay  Graham! 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [lowering  pistol  slowly].  My 
God!  Winthrop  Bartlett!  That  was  a  close  call. 
I  thought  you  were  Crew.  I  came  near — [Lays  pistol 
303 


UNDER   THE   CRUST 

on  table.]  I  am  a  prisoner,  under  sentence  as  a 
hostage,  and  having  escaped  last  night  came  here  by 
mistake,  thinking  I  had  friends  here.  [Re-enter  Rose 
who  pauses  inside  L.  U.  E.] 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  So  you  have,  old  fellow. 
You  are  not  a  prisoner  at  all.  I  have  good  news — 
[Takes  out  a  dispatch.  Enter  Crew  R.  U.  E.  He 
pulls  out  a  pistol.] 

CREW.  What  is  this  ?  Don't  stir  or  I  will  shoot. 
[Calls.]  Guards,  guards. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [stepping  in  front  of  him  and 
putting  him  aside  angrily].  Put  that  up.  [Enter 
guards] 

CREW.  Arrest  all  these  people — every  one.  I 
have  won  out.  Colonel  Bartlett,  I  have  a  dispatch 
from  the  Provost  Marshal  of  this  District  authorizing 
me  to  make  such  arrests  as  I  deem  proper.  Con 
sider  yourself  under  arrest. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  I  have  an  order  from  the 
Secretary  of  War  placing  me  in  command  of  this 
District. 

CREW  [astounded].    You  have — what  ? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [to  Major  Graham].  My  first 
304 


THE   HOSTAGE 

duty  is  to  announce  to  you  that  you  are  free.  A 
courier  has  come  with  a  dispatch  from  the  President 
saying  that  the  officer  for  whom  you  were  held  has 
been  sent  through  the  lines.  [Enter  Mammy.]  You 
have  been  exchanged  and  are  free. 

MAMMY.  Oh!  Thank  de  Lord!  for  all  his 
mussies.  [To  Crew.]  Fs  free  too — Does  you  see 
me? 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [to  Crew].  My  next  duty  is  to 
arrest  you.  Guards,  arrest  that  man.  [Guards  ad 
vance  and  arrest  Crew]  I  will  trouble  you  for  my 
dispatch  which  you  suppressed. 

CREW.  What  dispatch?  This  is  an  outrage. 
I  have  no  dispatch.  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honor. 

MAMMY.  He's  got  it  right  in  he  pocket.  I  seed 
him  put  it  dyah. 

CREW  [handing  dispatch  to  Colonel  Bartlett].  Damn 
him!  Why  didn't  I  shoot  him  before?  [He  falls 
back  towards  door  and  exits  scowling] 

ROSE.  Exchanged!  Free!  Oh,  brother!  [She 
throws  herself  in  Colonel  Bartlett' s  arms] 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.        There,  there,  little  Sis. 
305 


UNDER   THE    CRUST 

Don't  cry!  [To  Major  Graham.]  This  is  my  sister. 
She  has  been  much  interested  in  your  fate. 

ROSE  [wiping  her  eyes].  I  am  so  glad  you  are 
free.  I  felt  like  a  murderess. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [taking  her  hand].  My  fate  is 
still  in  your  hands. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT  [smiling].  She  is  a  terrible 
fire-eater.  Worse  almost  than 

ROSE  [putting  her  hand  over  his  mouth].    Hush. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.     She  is  for  conquest. 

ROSE.     Brother — please  hush. 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  I  have  other  news.  Lee 
has  surrendered. 

ROSE  [delighted].  Lee  surrendered  ?  Oh,  thank 
God !  The  war  is  over. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [agitated].  Lee  surrendered  ?  Im 
possible!  [Cheering  up.]  Oh,  you  mean  one  of  the 
younger  Lees.  I  know  Marse  Robert  has  not  sur 
rendered. 

MAMMY.     Nor;   dat  he  ain't 

COLONEL  BARTLETT.  Yes,  he  has.  [Takes  dis 
patch  from  pocket].  General  Lee  surrendered  his 
army  to  General  Grant  at  Appomattox  this  morning. 
306 


THE    HOSTAGE 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [turning  and  sinking  into  a  chair 
beside  table].  My  God,  it  is  over!  The  cause  is  lost. 
We  have  no  flag  now. 

ROSE  [lifting  flag  and  throwing  it  partly  over  him]. 
Yes,  we  all  have  one  flag  now  and  thank  God  for  it ! 
— The  flag  of  your  fathers  and  of  ours. 

MAJOR  GRAHAM  [kisses  her  hand  and  buries  his 
head  in  his  arms  on  the  table.] 

[Curtain.] 


307 


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